Impact
by shiny silver grl
Summary: Takes place in season 3. As Darla prepares to give birth, Cordelia interferes with an attempt on Angel's life, but the consequences of her actions land her two years in the past, mere days before Doyle is to die on the Quintessa. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: "Impact"

**Author**: silver

**Written**: 01-19-02 through 02-02-03

**Takes Place**: Directly after "Offspring" in season 3.

**Summary**: With the birth of Darla's baby fast approaching, Cordelia interferes with an attempt on Angel's life, but the consequences of her actions send her back to 1999...mere days before Doyle is to die on the Quintessa.

**Disclaimer**: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and all images found on this site are the property of Joss Whedon, the WB, UPN, Mutant Enemy, and everyone else in the world who is not me. I claim no rights or ownership over anything more than the idea for this story. It was done purely in my spare time (Ha!) for recreational purposes; I make no money from it, nor am I in any way affiliated with the aforementioned television shows, networks, or representatives. No infringement is intended. I did not inhale.

Special Thanks: To Liz of Fangirl, my beta goddess. A year is a long time. You put a lot of time and effort into this for me, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Special thanks also goes to Anya of the Sanctuary for answering that vital question for me for chapter 10.

( There is a cover to this book. Take the spaces out of the following address to view it:

htt p: (remove this)/ (remove this, too)/ dittdo . homestead . com / impact . html )

**Author's Note:** I put a lot of work into this. It was a year-long project that was constantly juggled between two full-time jobs, building and running nearly a dozen websites, and a trip to Europe. Through it all, though, I just had this overwhelming desire to finish, and finish it well, because at the heart I think it's a good story. All I ask of you is that you read all the way through the first chapter. If you like what you've read so far…read on, it gets better. If you don't, then thank you for giving me the time that you have. I appreciate (most) all feedback. So please give the fic a chance, thanks for staying with me this long, and enjoy "Impact"…

* * *

**"Impact" **

**by: silver**

* * *

The stars above L.A. shone brightly, for anyone who might've been able to see them. Not much of their light managed to make it down to the street, however, after being filtered through the smog, and drowned out by the garish city lights. The hotel was a beacon, brimming with light, keeping the gritty darkness at bay beyond the windows. 

With all of the shades pulled down, Cordelia could almost pretend that it wasn't dark outside. And while she was at it, she could pretend that she wasn't working for a big, hulking, brute of a brooding vampire boss (who paid her nowhere near what she was worth, by the way), and who hadn't gone all dark last year and somehow managed to knock up his cheap, skanky blonde vampire ex-lover. She could even almost pretend that the cheap, skanky blonde in question wasn't currently gestating some sort of demon spawn that – naturally – had been prophesied to have something to do with the destruction and downfall of mankind.

She could almost pretend all of it, that is, if Darla weren't such a pain in the ass.

Ever since Angel had taken her in and sequestered her in a room at the Hyperion, Darla had been a nuisance and a half. At first Cordelia had been suckered into feeling sorry for her, sympathizing with her because of her own experience of being the mother of an unborn demon-child. But all of that changed the first time Darla had gotten the munchies for Cordelia's neck. Now, she was kept under constant surveillance by one of their group, who was always equipped with a crossbow, until such a time when Wesley and Fred might be able to glean some answers about this whole prophecy thing, and what exactly was going to be born.

But until that happens, Cordelia thought, I'm suddenly stuck playing nursemaid to the skanky undead. Hm...It's interesting how the word "skanky" just keeps on being the best adjective.

With a long-suffering sigh, Cordelia pulled a stool over against the counter and stepped on its lowest rung; reaching into the cabinet above her head. Her hand searched blindly along the shelf in the cabinet until she touched something smooth and cool. Grabbing hold of the mug, Cordelia pulled it out and shut the cabinet.

"She break another mug?" Angel asked suddenly from the doorway.

With a startled cry, Cordelia lost her balance and started to trip off of the stool. Before she could fall, however, Angel was at her side, supporting her and keeping her upright. Settling herself firmly on her feet, Cordelia let go of him and immediately whacked his chest with her free hand. "Hey! I just kept you from breaking your neck!" Angel protested.

Cordelia took a deep breath, feeling her pulse slowing after the initial adrenaline rush. "If it weren't for you, Stealthmaster 2000, I wouldn't have fallen off to begin with. Jeez! You've spent at least the last six years of your life around humans, and you still haven't figured out how to make a little noise when you enter a room?"

Angel shrugged. "Old habits die hard."

Cordelia raised a perfect eyebrow. "Yeah? Well I wish your 'old habit' upstairs would die hard."

"Cordelia," Angel started.

"I know, I know," she forestalled him. "I know what you're going to say. She can't help what she is, she didn't have any choice about being turned back into a vamp again, and right now she's carrying your demonic child, which may or may not be evil. And until we're sure, we just have to wait and put up with her. But she's going through our mugs like some kind of...of...going-through-mugs-machine." Angel just looked at her, and Cordelia sighed. "Yeah, I don't know either. I'm too tired to be witty right now."

"You seem tense." Angel observed.

"Gee, I wonder why?" Cordelia said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You go crazy and fire us. You go all dark and let people die in your bizzarro quest for vengeance. You come back and tell me that you didn't sleep with Darla, and now we're taking care of a woman who occasionally likes to chow down on the hand that feeds her. I'd say things couldn't rate much higher on the Suck o' Meter."

Angel glanced away and tried for an innocent expression. "So, you're still mad about all of that, huh?"

Cordelia sighed. "No, I'm mostly over it. But the lying part still bothers me, yeah."

Angel looked contrite. "I am sorry about lying to you. I just...didn't want you to think less of me, again. Things were rough for awhile, there, and I finally felt like you guys had forgiven me for...you know, the whole firing thing. I didn't want to bring up something else that would cause a rift between us."

"But that's not for you to decide, Angel. Remember a long time ago when we all decided that secrets are bad? We're your friends, as long as we're all honest with each other we can work through anything." Cordelia paused as Angel absorbed that, and then turned toward the refrigerator. She opened the door, allowing its light to spill out upon the floor, and removed a container of fresh blood.

Angel scrutinized her in silence, noting the tension in her form as she popped open the microwave door and set the timer for the blood to heat. "It's more than that," he said finally. "What else is eating you?"

"You mean besides Darla, when she gets the chance?" Cordelia asked pseudo-innocently. Angel looked at her blankly, and Cordelia dropped the act. "It's nothing."

Angel arched an eyebrow. "You know, someone told me once...it wasn't all that long ago, either...that as long as we're honest with each other we can work through anything."

Cordelia glared at him. "Oh sure, use my pearls of wisdom to fit your own devious purposes."

He smiled faintly. "Whatever works." He watched as she sighed took the blood out of the microwave, avoiding his eyes. "Hey," he said gently, concerned but pretty sure he knew what was going on. "I know. It's the day after tomorrow." Cordelia looked up, surprised. And then she saw the understanding look on Angel's face and felt bad for assuming he'd forgotten. Of course he'd remember. It had been almost two years, and it was never really discussed, but they'd both always remember. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked quietly.

Cordelia seemed agitated over her own imagined weakness, and tossed her head in annoyance. "No, I'm fine. I mean...it's not like I'm going through the fresh pain of it every day, or something...but I just think about it sometimes. I think about him. About how things would've been if..."

"If he hadn't died," Angel finished for her.

"Yeah." Cordelia looked at the floor. "And right now I'm just thinking about it more because...you know."

"Because two days from now is the anniversary of his death."

"Yeah," Cordelia said again, softly. She looked up again; her eyes meeting his and she smiled a little. "I still miss him sometimes."

Angel smiled back. "I do, too." The private moment was suddenly interrupted by an ear-splitting scream from upstairs. Cordelia nearly dropped the mug again, which would have been disastrous, considering that it was filled nearly to the brim with thick, heated pig's blood. "God!" she exclaimed. "Does she have to keep doing that!"

Angel winced. "Wesley says she could deliver any time now."

As they walked out of the kitchen and started climbing the stairs, Cordelia said "Yeah, and who died and made Wesley the resident O.B.G.Y.N., anyway?"

"Well, he's the closest we've got right now; we can't exactly take her to the hospital."

"Right, because Mommy Dearest and her little hobgoblin might get hungry and turn the nurses into big fleshy chew toys." Angel just glanced at her as he opened the door, and they were met with another shriek as Darla screamed again.

Inside, Gunn leaned against the wall opposite Darla's bed, a crossbow trained upon her with a steady hand. Wesley stood near the window, lost within a book and already accustomed enough to Darla's ravings that he didn't even look up. Rolling her eyes, Cordelia crossed quickly to Darla's bedside and thrust the mug at her. "Here, already! Screaming about it's not going to heat the blood any faster, you know! And if you would quit shattering our mugs, I wouldn't have to keep going downstairs for new ones, now would I?"

Darla snarled and knocked the mug out of Cordelia's hand, sending it flying across the room to shatter against the wall. The blood splattered against the beige paint in a large stain, rivulets of it running down toward the floor. Some of it also splattered on Gunn. "See, now that's just nasty." he stated, disgustedly shaking blood off of his sleeve.

Cordelia sighed in exasperation, and Darla looked fierce. "I'm not screaming because I'm hungry, you idiot, I'm screaming because I'm in labor!"

Angel quickly looked to Wesley for confirmation. "Labor?"

"Labor?" Cordelia repeated. "We have labor now?"

"It would appear that she is in the early stages, yes," Wesley answered, snapping the book shut briskly.

"Well shouldn't we be doing something, then?" Angel asked worriedly. "Shouldn't we be getting blankets, or boiling some water?"

Cordelia leveled a gaze at him. "Yeah, and when the baby is born – if whatever gets born looks anything like a baby - we can hold it up by its feet and spank it, too." she said sarcastically. "I realize that you actually were born in the eighteenth century, but that's not exactly the most efficient way to deal with birth anymore." A crease suddenly furrowing her brow, she turned to Wesley. "And would we actually have to boil? Couldn't we substitute mineral water, or something?"

"In fact we need not worry about it for quite a while, yet," he replied. "The first stages of labor have been known to take hours, sometimes even days before actual birth."

"Then what's with all the 'woe is me'?" Cordelia asked, her withering gaze falling once again upon the pregnant vampire.

"You have no idea what I'm going through," Darla gritted her teeth at the ceiling.

"It's true we don't have an exact basis for comparison in regards to vampiric birth," Wesley admitted, "due to there having never been one before. We can only make the most educated guesses possible, based upon all of the factors and the limited available resources."

"'Cause not only has nothing like this ever happened before, it shouldn't even be able to happen at all." came a small voice from the doorway. Cordelia looked back to see Fred lingering there, thin and waiflike, still shy and uncertain enough to remain on the very edge of the doorway, not yet brave enough to enter. "All the books say this shouldn't even be possible," she continued in her wavering voice. "and that a vampire could never give birth. I mean after all, vampires are dead. Well, undead, really, but you know what I mean. They don't even have heartbeats; how could they have contractions? And with no heartbeat, no blood should be pumping around in her veins, ergo no oxygen or nutrients would be able to flow along the umbilical cord to the baby, ergo it wouldn't be able to breathe or grow or even live, ergo it's just not possible."

She suddenly stopped, as if she'd only just realized that her babbling held everyone's attention, and quickly ducked out of sight beyond the doorjamb. "Though, obviously she is," they heard her muffled voice say from beyond it as she hovered there out of view.

"Indeed," Wesley said. "And therefore we can only do our best under the circumstances, and prepare as best we can. However…" He stopped suddenly, and looked at Angel meaningfully, nodding his head toward the door. Cordelia trailed after them as they left the room, shutting the door firmly behind them. Fred was still lingering in the hall, not as jumpy now that she wasn't the center of attention. She obligingly walked with them down the hall back toward the stairway. "However," Wesley continued as they descended, "I am worried about any potential Wolfram and Hart involvement."

"Why would they have anything to do with this?" Angel asked warily. The devious law firm had been no small source of struggle and frustration to all of them, but Angel in particular had much reason to hate them. It had been their interference in his life – somehow impossibly bringing his sire, Darla back to life as a human, using her to taunt him, and then turning her forcefully into a vampire again, among other things – that had led him to embrace the darkness within himself and strike back at them; doing more damage to his own conscience for his misdeeds than to the evil he was trying to stop. They seemed to make it their business to provoke him at every turn…for what purpose Angel wasn't sure. But whatever this was with Darla…whatever was going to be born of their ill-fated night of hatred and passion…it couldn't bode well if Wolfram & Hart was interested.

Wesley squinted his eyes imperceptibly as he thought. "For whatever reason, they've always been very interested in you. And let us not forget that they're the ones who not only brought Darla back from the dead, but wanted her turned again, as well. It's possible that this is the result they've sought from the beginning. It would behoove us to be on the lookout in the next few days for any odd behavior that may have originated with them."

"Like maybe the big funky horned demon in the lobby?" Cordelia asked suddenly. Angel and Wesley's heads shot up, and indeed there was a strange demon standing before them. Its horns were like those of a ram, wide and curling forward. In general appearance, however, it was more reptilian, being covered entirely in iridescent scales that changed color depending upon which way it turned, and the amount of light reflected upon it. Upon one of its arms it wore a gauntlet which covered the entire forearm, beginning just below the elbow and encompassing the hand entirely. All of this Cordelia took in at a glance, and then there was no more time for observation, as the demon raised the gauntlet and aimed as if to fire at them.

"Down!" Wesley shouted, and they each dove for cover. Cordelia felt a blast of heat behind her as she picked herself up off of the floor, scrambling into the open elevator doors to the side of the staircase, and heard wood shattering as the demon missed his mark. Panting, she peeked out around the lip of the elevator entrance and saw the demon stalking forward. She could see that Wesley and Fred had been able to make it to office, but Angel had had the misfortune of being stuck behind one of the circular, outward-facing lounges that spotted the lobby. The cover it provided was far from adequate, and he was forced to move accordingly as the demon circled around it to find him.

It was apparent that the demon was there for Angel…it hadn't even glanced toward Cordelia's hiding place; nor had it seemed to care what had happened to Fred and Wesley. It focused on Angel with single-minded determination. Unfortunately, the weapons case was against the wall behind Angel. Even with supernatural speed, he wouldn't be able to get to it, choose a weapon, and use it in time before the demon could fry him with that gauntlet. And with each step the demon took around the lounge, Angel was forced to take a step further away from the cabinet to keep the sofa between him and certain death. As the demon stalked him, it came nearer Cordelia, but was facing away from her. She could see its broad back tensed, as it kept the gauntlet level, ready to burn Angel down. Its back. Its back was to her.

Cordelia stood and, silently slipping the fire extinguisher out of its mount on the wall, hefted its weight and crept toward the demon. Okay, so Angel had been teaching her swordplay, and not "Introduction to Hitting Demons Over the Head with Blunt Objects", but it would have to do. All she really had to do was distract it long enough for Angel to get to it without fear of being charbroiled, and then he could take care of it.

Suddenly there was a noise at the top of the stair, and Cordelia looked up to see Gunn skidding to a stop. "Whoa!" he shouted involuntarily when he saw the scaled demon. He recoiled, recovered quickly, and immediately fired off a bolt from the crossbow. Even as the creature screamed in pain when the bolt embedded itself in its chest, Angel was leaping over the lounge. Whether Angel miscalculated his leap, or he hadn't noticed her behind the demon, or he simply just couldn't control what happened at all, they all ended up in a heap on the floor. Cordelia landed on the bottom, and with a forceful "Huh!" the wind was knocked out of her as the weight of both the demon and Angel came down upon her at once. She felt them roll off her, struggling and punching at each other, and she gulped air reflexively. She heard crashing sounds, and shouts, and finally she recovered her senses enough to roll over and push herself to her feet.

Standing unsteadily, she saw that Gunn had joined Angel at the base of the staircase and they fought the demon side by side. Even as she watched, Wesley came barreling out from the office and joined the fight. Suddenly the creature gave an enraged cry and straightened, throwing its attackers off. Gunn stumbled back across the bottom steps, and Wesley fell, skidding across the floor. Angel was flung over the demon's shoulder, and he landed beside Cordelia. He rolled upon impact, and was on his feet in seconds.

Too many seconds, Cordelia saw. The demon tracked Angel with its gauntlet, and even as the vampire rolled and jumped to his feet the demon prepared to fire. Too late. No thinking. No stopping. Just act.

"No!" Cordelia reached out blindly, only half-turned toward Angel. She shoved against him, knocking him out of the way.

Off balance, he fell, and could only look on helplessly as the demon's blast overtook Cordelia. In the same instant, it enveloped her, Angel hit the floor, and there was a sound like a sonic boom. All of the windows and glass in the Hyperion suddenly shattered violently, as the loud WHOOMP! pounded at them from the walls, the floor, from the very air around them. All of the lights went out at the same moment, and in the sudden darkness Angel bounded up to catch the demon.

From his place on the floor, Wesley heard the quick sound of running feet, and then a grunt and a thud as someone fell. From the entrance, he heard the door open and close once, and then there was momentary silence. He blinked twice, trying to acclimate his eyes and make sense out of the shapes he saw in the gloom. "Is everyone all right?" he ventured.

The emergency lights suddenly snapped on, and Wesley saw near him Angel sprawled on the floor. It looked as if he had tripped over the edge of one of the circular lounges in his haste to catch the demon before it could escape. "Damnit!" Angel shouted, pounding a fist into the floor. He angrily pushed himself up and turned around. Behind him, Wesley could see Gunn still looking bewildered but none the worse for the wear on the steps. But Cordelia…

Angel ran to Cordelia's side and took her wrist in his hand to check her pulse. To his great relief, it was steady and strong. He took in her unconscious form and looked for cuts, burns, or breaks, finding none. Worried at what the demon's strange device might have done to hurt her, Angel at first didn't notice anything different about her when he turned her over. He checked again for any broken bones, or burned skin from the blast, but found nothing. Her eyes were closed, and as far as he could tell she was in no pain; just unconscious. Then he noticed her hair.

Wesley, Gunn and Fred had come up behind him as he examined her, and they each peered over his shoulders at Cordelia in confusion. "Uh…" Gunn was at a loss for words. Fred merely pointed.

Wesley arched an eyebrow at Cordelia's long dark brown hair, which tumbled down across Angel's arms where he held her; trailing to the floor as she lay there. "Oh my."

* * *

The first thing Cordelia was aware of was that she wasn't dead. That was nice, and certainly not what she'd expected after jumping in front of Mr. Kill, Crush, Destroy and his little gadget, back there. The second thing to be noticed was that she wasn't in the lobby anymore. In fact, she noticed as she looked around, she wasn't even in the Hyperion anymore. 

Cordelia looked down at her hands, which held a pot of coffee in one, and a half-filled mug in the other. Before her was a small coffee station, perched on top of a miniature refrigerator. A strong sense of surrealism overcame her. She could still feel the places where she was going to get bruises later from being tackled by Angel and the demon, and there was almost a sort of electric charge running through her body from the blast she'd taken from the demon's gauntlet. Yet suddenly she was standing here, pouring a cup of coffee, somewhere that wasn't the hotel. Okay, this is just too weird.

Cordelia squinched her eyes shut suddenly, and tried to clear her head. When she opened her eyes again, she really looked at the room around her. And to her overwhelming shock, she knew it. Oh my…. she thought, as she looked at the desk, the computer, the ugly yellow walls that she'd always wanted to re-paint, the coffee pot that they could never afford to make fresh coffee in….Oh my God…

Suddenly someone came into the room, and no way was this happening. He couldn't be here…his being here was even less possible than her being here was, and any minute now she'd wake up on the floor of the lobby and tell Angel all about the weird dream she'd just had with…

"Did ya hear that?" The man asked, looking briefly at Cordelia and then back toward the rear office. When he got no response his dark head turned back to Cordelia. "Surely ya heard it," he continued. His blue eyes became speculative. "D'ya think they might be makin' up in there? Pity we can't afford real spy equipment."

Cordelia's breath came in ragged gasps, and all of her extremities suddenly felt cold. The feeling of surrealism intensified as she looked at the man, no stranger to her, and it wasn't until she heard the crash that she realized she'd dropped the mug and coffee pot. Concerned now, the man stepped forward. "Y'all right, Princess?" he asked.

She felt sudden tears spring to her eyes, and they stung her as she stared at him, disbelieving. Hesitantly, so tentatively as if he might disappear if she moved to quickly, she reached out to him. Her fingers met the supple leather of his jacket, and she didn't pass through him, and he wasn't cold. He was real. He was there, and she was too, and he was real, and he was alive.

"Doyle," she whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

"Doyle..."

The incredulous whisper lay there between them, half question, half desperate, confused, wondrous hope. Cordelia was overcome. This wasn't possible. It just wasn't possible. And yet...

And yet her fingers still traced lightly over the smooth coolness of his jacket. She could see the confused concern in his familiar eyes. She could **feel** his presence there in front of her . She could smell the lingering scent of his aftershave...a distinctive smell that had always reminded her of him, even now, two years after...

Suddenly it was just too much. Everything came crashing in, and she felt the tears in her eyes well up and spill over onto her cheeks. The shock and joy at seeing him alive precluded her displacement for the moment, and finally she could breathe, finally she could move. She rushed forward, throwing herself into his arms. 

Startled, Doyle nonetheless instinctively hugged her back, something within him responding immediately to Cordelia's obvious emotion. He allowed her to hold him for a long moment, and then he gently took hold of her arms and pushed her far enough away from him to be able to look at her. "Uh, not that I don't wholeheartedly approve of yer spontaneous desire for a physical relationship, but're ya all right?" he asked again. "What happened? What..." 

At this he finally noticed what was off about her. "What happened to yer hair?"

Cordelia gaped, and out of reflex a hand flew to her chin-length tresses. She was trying to figure out where in the world to start, when a sound from the back office drew their attention to the door. Doyle turned, and Cordelia looked on in shock as a young woman strode past them, her long, straight blond hair flowing lightly behind her. Her face was tanned and resolute. It was Buffy Summers. Without a word, or a glance, she walked out into the sunlight, shutting the door behind her. 

__

Okay, Cordelia thought. _ What the...... _

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"...hell is going on?" Cordelia demanded. 

Around her Angel, Wesley, Gunn and Fred stood in varying degrees of surprised confusion; no one knew what to say. When Cordelia had come to, she'd acted startled and confounded by her surroundings, and didn't appear to recognize Fred or Gunn. She'd only calmed down a bit when she saw Angel, but she still wanted answers.

Wesley attempted to take control. "Now Cordelia, let's just calm down and be rational."

"Rational?" she said. "Oh I'm rational. I'm **way** rational. Look at me, Miss Rationality. I just want to know where the hell I am, and who all you people.....Wesley?"

Disconcerted again, Wesley replied slowly. "Yes..."

Cordelia looked confused. "I thought you went back to England?" Wesley frowned and looked contemplative at her question, and Cordelia shook her head, giving a little snort as if to say _Whatever, I don't have time for this._ She turned to Angel. "Is this some kind of prank to get back at me for telling Buffy where you were? Alright look, I'm sorry. But you don't exactly say no to a slayer, you know? And plus, she was right. You were going to get yourself killed facing that Mohra demon on your own."

Angel froze. "What?"

"'Cause let's face it," Cordelia went on, "Doyle isn't really the most efficient backup even when you're a vampire."

Angel stared at her. Blinking, he turned to Wesley. "What the hell is going on here?"

"That was **my** question!" Cordelia said in exasperation.

Wesley pondered. "I'm not exactly clear on what incident she's referring to, but as for the rest of it I'm afraid I might know what's happened." He turned to Cordelia. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Cordelia reluctantly put her questions on the back burner for a moment, and answered. "Well...Doyle found out that the Mohra demon's powers of regeneration were enough to actually bring it back to life. He came back and told Angel, and they went off after it together." She turned to Angel, apology on her face. "And then Buffy woke up and wanted to know where you went, and I **had** to tell her. You wouldn't have been strong enough to beat it on your own, Angel. Not as a human."

Fred and Gunn looked as one to Angel. "You were human?" Gunn asked.

Angel was speechless. Wesley turned to him, looking almost regretful at having to ask questions about a clearly troubled memory. "How long ago was this?" 

Angel looked at him, then back at Cordelia. Then back at Wesley. "I...that's not possible. That day was taken away. No one remembers it but me. I mean…she knows about it…but not those details…"

"How long?" Wesley asked again.

Angel finally realized where he was going with this line of questioning and looked back at Cordelia with disbelief and wonder in his face. "Two years. To the day."

Wesley hmm'ed, and Gunn raised his hand. "So lemme get this straight," he said, disbelief glaringly obvious on his face. "This isn't the real Cordelia?"

"Hello? Standing right here?" Cordelia snapped. "Of course I'm real. Who are you, anyway? And shouldn't you be getting back to the Hilfiger shoot?"

Gunn swallowed, convinced. "This is bad," he concluded.

Wesley was deep in thought. Almost absently he replied, "This is indeed a grave dilemma..."

"Yeah, that too," Gunn cut in.

Wesley went on as if he hadn't heard. "It appears that the demon's gauntlet device triggered some sort of temporal displacement, and 'our' Cordelia, two thousand and one Cordelia, was replaced by an earlier version of herself. You," he said, turning to Cordelia, "are most definitely real...but you've been displaced."

"Well then re-place me!" she demanded.

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," he replied. "The demon that did this absconded with the gauntlet after blasting you...er...the other Cordelia with it."

Cordelia turned to Angel. "You let it get away?" she accused him.

Angel seemed to have recovered a bit. Now he looked uncomfortable. "Not **_let_**...I didn't **_let_**. I was uh..."

"Attacked by an evil sofa monster?" Gunn offered up.

Angel shot him a glare, and Wesley spoke again, a note of determination edging into his voice. "Our task now is clear. We must find the demon that did this, and discover his agenda."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Cordelia followed Doyle almost as an afterthought as he headed back toward Angel's office. Her brain was still on overload, and her thoughts didn't seem to make any sense as she tried to figure out what in the world was going on.

They entered the office to find the vampire standing there silently, melancholy etched into his features. The office was a mess, and Doyle whistled as he stepped over an overturned wastebasket and some crumpled papers. "She was pretty mad, ya?" he guessed. He started to say something supportive to Angel, but his voice seemed far away as Cordelia's gaze fell upon the broken clock on the floor. She recognized it; it was the one that used to sit on Angel's desk. She silently bent over and picked it up, noting that its face was smashed. Suddenly it all finally hit her. The blast from the gauntlet, Doyle, Buffy here, in L.A... Somehow, she was **really** here. Right here. Right now, in this time. 

In her stunned moment of clarity, she didn't notice that Doyle had gone quiet. He looked from silent and thoughtful Cordelia, to silent and crushed Angel. Unaware of the temporal shift each of them had just undergone, he couldn't figure out why they were both so somber. He watched as Angel turned without a word and started toward the elevator. 

Cordelia looked up at the movement. "I realize you want to go downstairs and brood right now," she said slowly, stopping him, "and I know that for once you've got a really good reason...but we've got a big problem."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"We've got a problem," Fred said.

"I'll say," Gunn replied, self consciously fingering his bright red zip-up vest, "Evil clone over there thinks I look like a Tommy Boy."

Cordelia glared from the sofa. "I heard that." She knew she'd been snappy, but she couldn't help it. She'd been unwillingly transported out of her time, and was now surrounded by people she didn't know. _This,_ she thought, _is what I get for hanging out with a vampire and his little Irish sidekick. _"Hey," she said suddenly, her voice brightening a bit. "Where's Doyle?"

Angel and Wesley both looked up from the books they'd been flipping through, and glanced at each other briefly. Angel looked pained, and Wesley cleared his throat and changed the subject. "I think I understand now what the demon was attempting to do. Its focus wasn't Cordelia, as we already knew. She merely intercepted the blast meant for Angel. The loud noise we heard, and the failing of the electricity was due, I believe, to an electromagnetic pulse."

"An electro **what**?" Gunn asked.

"Electromagnetic," Wesley repeated. "It's a pulse of intense electromagnetic radiation, and I believe one was generated as a side effect by the demon's gauntlet. By nature, an EMP shorts out any electrically powered device within a fixed radius. That's why the lights went out." Here he paused, and took his glasses off thoughtfully as he reasoned it out. "And then when the emergency lights came on, we discovered that our Cordelia was gone, and in her place was a version of herself from two years ago. From a day we now know Angel existed as a human in." He looked around and waited for a comment, but everyone was waiting for him to continue. "I think what's happened here is obvious," he said. "The demon was trying to bring **human** Angel into the present. Most likely so that he'd be easier to kill."

"But how did anyone know?" Gunn asked. "Angel just said he was the only one who remembered the day."

"I don't know. All I can tell for certain from looking at the evidence is that Wolfram and Hart have been extremely interested in Angel since his arrival in L.A. In addition to taunting and provoking him, it's quite possible that they have some sort of monitoring system we're not yet aware of. If this demon was in fact connected with the firm in any way, it would indicate that their interest in him has now waned, and they wish him terminated. I hypothesize that this demon was contracted by Wolfram and Hart, and they made it aware of Angel's human weakness, two years ago. It then came here, planning to blast Angel with its gauntlet device, bringing the human version of himself into the future, so that he could be killed."

"Guys..." Fred tried again.

"Which begs the question," Angel said, straightening from the book he'd been leaning over, "If he'd succeeded, where would I have gone? Where **did** Cordelia go?"

Everyone stared at each other for a moment, and then it was like a giant light bulb went off over their collective heads. Gunn was dumbfounded. "You mean our Cordelia just got zapped back to two years ago?"

At this Fred again said, "Guys, we have a problem..." 

"Well what are we going to do? She can't **stay** there," Angel said.

"Of course not," Wesley said. "But for now all we can do is what we've been doing. Try to find out what demon it was who did this, why he'd want to kill you, and figure out how to reverse this before.....oh." He stopped suddenly, a stunned expression on his face as he finally realized the ramifications. "Oh," he said again. 

"That sounds like a bad 'oh'." Gunn remarked warily.

"Don't say 'oh'," Angel commanded.

"I've been so caught up in trying to ascertain the demon's motivation, that it hadn't really occurred to me until this moment that our Cordelia truly **is** now existing two years in the past." Wesley looked up, grave foreboding on his face. "Her presence there could have disastrous consequences."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Fred finally interjected. "There's no way she can totally prevent contaminating the timeline...no matter what she does, not everything will happen the way it did the first time. Even miniscule changes could have **huge** impacts on our present reality."

Into the ensuing silence, Cordelia hesitantly said, "But...won't I just do everything the same? I mean...if it's me, I...she's done all of it before, right? She knows what to say, and how to act."

"But she won't know why she's there," Wesley replied. "She won't just sit back and settle into a two year old life...she'll have to try to find a way back."

"Which almost certainly would involve telling me and Doyle what happened, so we could help figure it out." Angel said.

"Yes!" Fred said. She was in her element now. Obviously intrigued by the possibility of time travel, she was more animated than any of them had ever seen her before as she went on, "And that could be catastrophic to our timeline! For instance, what if something she does back there starts a chain of events that leads to her never getting stuck in Pylea? You'd have never had to go after her, and I'd still be a slave there, along with every other human she freed, and I wouldn't even be here right now."

Around the room, everyone's faces began to register understanding.

"I freed slaves?" Cordelia asked. Initial surprise melted into a smug, self-satisfied smile. "Go me." 

Fred went on. "And it goes beyond that. **This** Cordelia presents a danger, too." She shook her head. "We've got a total Prime Directive situation here."

This time Fred was the one getting the bewildered looks. "Star Trek," she said, as if it was perfectly obvious. When everyone still looked at her blankly, she looked less certain. "The Next Generation?" When it became apparent that no one had any clue what she was talking about, she explained. "There's this directive… **the** directive. It mandates that if Starfleet comes in contact with another species of lesser technology and or development, they have a policy of non-interference to avoid influencing the direction in which the species would have naturally evolved on its own. And…well…this isn't **exactly** the same, because we're all the same species, and it's not really about technology, but..."

"Fred," Wesley gently prodded.

"Right," she said, stopping herself. "The point is, that time is just like that. It's got its own course of evolution, and the past has already happened. Any interference at all will change the course of that evolution, possibly drastically altering things as we know them. Even if we were able to send this Cordelia back right **now**, she could still contaminate the timeline."

"God! Would you quit using the word 'contaminate'? You make me sound like some kind of infectious disease." Cordelia said.

"You know," Gunn said thoughtfully, "I'm not really seeing the downside, here. I mean look at all the good she could do. We could warn her in advance of some of the bad things that went down, and she could avoid them. Like, that family with the little girl with the eye in the back of her head? She could keep them from getting killed. And Lorne's club…she could keep it from getting trashed at **least** once or twice. And Angel last year? She could stop that. She could…"

He trailed off as the full realm of possibilities sank in. Seriously, and with sudden hope, he said "She could save Alonna."

Apology written all over her face, Fred replied "But our experiences make us what we are, Charles. Without them, we're not really us anymore. There's no telling what the result could be if your sister had lived. Without having lived through her death, you might never have joined Angel Investigations at all."

"And if it's that, or having my sister alive? No offense or anything, but in a heartbeat." Gunn said.

Wesley was regretful. He knew the pain Gunn still felt at not being able to protect his sister was considerable. Her death and turning hadn't been his fault, but he felt a brother's guilt nonetheless. It hadn't helped matters when he'd been the one who had to stake her himself. The sudden hope that she could now be saved was evident on his friend's face. "Your sister might be saved," Wesley said gently, "but then what of all the people **you've** helped to save since you joined us? Would you trade all of their lives as well?" Struck by the ramifications, Gunn fell into morose silence.

Fred's voice was soft. "So you see, even one change to the original course of events could end up meaning the loss of lives. It's impossible to determine how wild the effects could be." She gestured toward Cordelia. "She knows us now; she knows our names. What's going to happen when she meets us again, even though it'll be for the first time? It **can't** happen exactly the same, now. Changes are already inevitable." 

Angel looked off to the side, perplexed. "Okay, so now I'm confused, though." he said. "If our Cordelia went back in time to two years ago…and you say it's impossible for her not to have some sort of impact on the timeline there…shouldn't we be seeing the results?" He looked at Wesley, and then at Fred. "If she makes any change whatsoever, it's back there. In our past. Which already happened for us. Shouldn't we have immediately seen any changes the instant she was zapped back?"

They all looked around as if they expected one of the aforementioned "changes" to suddenly materialize out of thin air. Nothing happened, and Fred's features were marred by a thoughtful frown. "There are any number of reasons why we wouldn't be aware of the effects yet," she said. "It's **possible**, albeit not very likely, that she hasn't done anything differently. Or, the timeline in which she got sent back to has spawned an alternate universe. Or, it could even be a side effect from the gauntlet. Maybe because she's from our time, the effects here will be suspended. There are no documented cases of true time travel, so until we can figure out how the demon did what he did, we can't be exactly certain what the effects are, or how to reverse them.

"In the meantime," Wesley continued, turning toward Cordelia, "it's vitally important that **this** Cordelia not learn any more of our time than she already has. To minimize the possibility of contact, I think she should be quarantined immediately in one of the rooms upstairs..."

"Again with the disease references," Cordelia sighed.

"...and contact with anyone other than Angel or myself should be kept to bare minimum." With that, Wesley approached Cordelia, who stood up. He started to reach for her arm to lead her to the stairs, but just then Darla shrieked from her room on the second floor. 

Everyone looked alarmed, and Angel took off up the stairs. "Uh, maybe her stayin' here isn't such a good idea," Gunn said.

Cordelia looked spooked. "What was **that**?"

Without missing a stride, Wesley instead took hold of Cordelia's arm and began leading her toward the entrance. "Change in plans," he said. "You'll have to stay at your apartment for the duration." He pulled her toward the door, grabbing his jacket and keys on the way as she looked curiously back over her shoulder at the stairs leading to the second level.

"But what about the ...you know," Fred hinted.

"Can't be helped," Wesley replied, pausing in the doorway. He glanced at Cordelia. "I hope **our** Cordy knows about the Prime Directive."

"Please," Cordelia said snidely as Wesley dragged her out, "like **I've** ever watched Geek Trek?" 


	3. Chapter 3

The bright sun of early morning had deepened into a steady glare behind the blinds in the outer office. Angel sat behind the desk regarding Cordelia with an unreadable expression. It had taken some convincing to keep him from retreating to his sanctuary below where, Cordelia knew, he was planning on being able to suffer in peace. Reluctantly, looking distracted, he'd turned from the elevator and followed Doyle into the outer office as Cordelia lowered the blinds. His own office, naturally, would have to have the windows and shades replaced before he could use it again without bursting into flames. Cordelia wasn't actually sure how he'd managed to avoid being turned into a giant, flaming vampire ball of death when the demon came crashing in, letting in the deadly sunlight.

In the outer office, he'd sat behind the desk, using it as a barrier between them as he listened impassively to what she had to say. Cordelia couldn't even tell if he'd been listening or not.

Doyle, on the other hand, showed that he'd at least heard – even if he didn't believe her – by turning to Angel and saying "Remind me later to find a new hidin' spot for my whiskey, eh? She's obviously tumbled on ta' my current stash."

Angel said nothing, and Cordelia was dismayed. She looked from Angel to Doyle, and then back again. "You guys really don't believe me at all?" she asked, surprised at the hurt she felt. A moment later she realized why. She'd been relating to Angel this whole time as if he were **her** Angel. Two years from now Angel. On some level, she'd been counting on the trust of their friendship to help him see she was telling the truth, and take this situation seriously. The only problem was, the vampire sitting across from her now didn't know her as well as the 2001 version of himself did. Add in the fact that he was exceedingly preoccupied at the moment with the loss of the love of his life – again – and she could understand his unwillingness to give her dilemma serious thought.

And then there was Doyle. He half leaned, half perched comfortably on the edge of the desk, regarding Cordelia with open incredulity. She realized that at this particular time in her own history, her bond with him was not as deep as she'd previously thought. There had been potential, yes...definitely. But his untimely death had robbed them of the chance to ever really become more to each other than friends and co-workers at the world's most bizarre job. She realized now that the bond she'd always felt she shared with him had been due in part to the visions he'd passed on to her through their one and only kiss aboard the Quintessa, moments before his death. The visions had quite literally changed her life, and they were something that Cordelia had always treasured as a gift from him. Okay...well, not **always**. There had been a couple times when she'd really, **really** wished that he'd kissed Angel instead...but in the long run she was grateful to Doyle for entrusting her with his sight.

"_I'm never going to forgive him for doing this to me."_

"For what? Choosing you? Trusting you with an enormous responsibility? Believing that you were the only one worthy of such a rare and important gift? I get the impression Doyle didn't have much by way of possessions?"

****

" No. No, he didn't."

" Seems like he gave you the most valuable thing he had."

True, the demon who'd pointed this out to her was a liar, and a shifty little eye thief, and would've killed her had Angel and Wesley not intervened...but the truth of his words had not been lost on her, and afterward she had done the best she could to live up to the responsibility Doyle entrusted her with. And, she liked having a part of him always with her.

At this point, however, Doyle hadn't yet passed his visions on to his Cordelia. He had little more reason than Angel to believe her wild tale. "Ooh!" she exclaimed suddenly, struck by a thought. Her hand flew to her hair again. "What about my hair? Fifteen minutes ago the me here had long hair, didn't she? How do you explain that?!" She ran her hand through her own short tresses for emphasis. 

"You had an attack of G.I. Jane in the bathroom?" Doyle suggested.

"Oh please," Cordelia started, but then stopped suddenly, insecure and dismayed all over again. "Oh God, does it really look like I could have just cut it myself in a bathroom somewhere? My hairdresser is **so** fired."

The two men across from her continued to give her blank looks, and Cordelia sighed. "All right, it's clear that you guys aren't buying it, so I'm going to have to play hardball." She looked at Angel seriously. "Ten minutes ago you killed a Mohra demon in there when it attacked you, and Buffy left. But there's more to that story, isn't there? There was a whole day more, where you were made human again, and you and Buffy were back together." 

"Okay, now I really **do** think you've gotten into my stash," Doyle said, half concerned. He shook his head in mock disappointment. "An' all those times you got on me for drinkin', too." He turned to Angel, smug. "Looks like Miss High and Mighty just fell off 'er soapbox." The words died on his lips, though, when he saw how shaken Angel was. The vampire's pallor was ashen, and his astonished expression was fixed on Cordelia.

Doyle straightened, concerned. "Ya'll right, man? 'Cause yer face just turned a whiter shade of pale."

The joke fell on deaf ears as Angel continued to gape at Cordelia as if he'd just seen a ghost. She leaned forward, sympathetic, hating to cause him more pain, but determined to drive home the undeniable proof that she was telling the truth. There was no way she **could** know any of this, if she were the Cordelia from his time. "And then you found out that your role as Champion was over, and that people would die – including Buffy – without you to protect them. So you had the Oracles take the day back, to save her. You gave up your humanity for her, and no one remembers it but you."

Doyle's jaw had dropped at the word "Oracles". Now, seeing how shaken Angel was, Doyle felt an icy tendril of doubt slither through his skepticism, settling in a cold pit in his stomach. If she was really...If what she said was true...

"Okay, I'm officially startled," he cracked, trying to lighten the mood and failing. He looked again at Angel, whose shock had melted into an even more disturbing despondence. "This really happened?" he asked, disbelief still coloring his voice.

"Still don't believe me?" Cordelia asked brightly...too brightly. She gave him a knowing glance, and Doyle had the sudden unnerving but distinct impression that he'd been foolish to doubt her, because now she was going to tell him something really awful and embarrassing. Like the time his uncle Joseph had caught him smoking out behind the tool shed, and had made him smoke cigarette after cigarette until he'd puked his brains out in front of Kathleen O'Leary, the neighbor's daughter. Or the first time he'd gone out and gotten **really** plastered, and had awakened the next morning in the garbage strewn parking lot of a male strip club with absolutely no memory of how he'd gotten there. He couldn't imagine **any** reason why he would have told her things of such a nature, whether she was really from the future or not, but from the look on her face he knew she had something big on him. He cringed in anticipation. "Hey, take it easy on a fella', will ya?'

"And how easy should I take it on **half **a fella?" she asked crossly, her old annoyance at being left out of the loop on his demon side sneaking into her voice.

Doyle flushed, thoroughly off balance and unprepared. Trying to stutter out a response, he risked several_ "help me_!" glances at Angel, but the vampire was lost in thought. No help there. He cast about frantically for an explanation, but he couldn't think of one fast enough, and tried to stall. "I'm uh…_cough_….not sure I know…_swallow_…exactly uh…_clear throat…_what ya mean? By that? Exactly?" _Hopeful / Innocent look._

"Don't give **me** that wounded puppy dog look, Mr. 'I'm-so-sweet, I'm-so-honest-even-though-I-didn't-tell-you-about-the-whole-half-demon-thing-for-three-months'!"

He sputtered some more, but when she glared at him he knew well and good she had his number and gave up. He winced, "Are ya angry with me?"

Cordelia sighed, letting it go. "I've known for two years, Doyle. If it bothered me at all, I'm sure I've gotten over it by now."

"Two years," Angel finally said quietly, looking up. He seemed to have shaken off his grief and surprise for the moment. "Is that how far you've come back?"

Cordelia met his gaze, relieved to finally be believed. "I think so," she said. "I think I didn't just get here, though. I mean…I don't know how this time stuff all works, but it was night when I…left. When I was two years from now. And it **can't** be coincidence that the moment I got here was the same first moment for everyone else in the repeato-day the Oracles gave us." Her tone grew thoughtful as she went on. "I think…I must have actually gotten here last night. Well…the day that was yesterday, that never really happened. But when that day was reset, I lost my memories of it just like everyone else."

Angel seemed to accept this, and steepled his fingers underneath his chin pensively, but Cordelia thought Doyle looked as if he was still having trouble with the whole concept. 

"I'm still having trouble with this whole concept," he said, startling her. "How would this even be possible? Isn't this a…a paradox, or somethin'?"

"I don't know how it's possible, but it's happened," Cordelia said matter of factly. "And, I got a good look at the demon that did it."

"So we'll start where we always do," Angel said, rising. "With research."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

When Wesley returned to the Hyperion he found Fred and Gunn sitting on the floor in the lobby. Fred's long legs were crossed at the ankle as she leaned forward over something that rested on the floor, her long brown hair falling in a cascade past her shoulders. As Wesley moved toward her he saw she was tinkering with an instrument. It looked very much like a cross between a Geiger counter and a metal detector. Considerably shorter than a traditional detector, the "dish" at the end was turned up to face outward, rather than down at the ground. There was also some sort of screen attached above the handle, in addition to the usual gauge. Gunn sat a short distance away, watching and handing her tools as she called for them. Intrigued, Wesley stepped nearer to the device to look it over. "What's this new venture?" he asked. 

Gunn didn't look up from Fred's work. "A time demon tracking…thingamajig," he said, gesturing toward the instrument. "Don't ask me how it works…I have trouble replacing the batteries in my Gameboy."

Wesley looked at him, and Gunn confessed "It's the positive and negative things," he said, bringing his hands up and mincing them back and forth as if holding a battery. "I always get 'em in wrong the first time."

Wesley blinked and turned to look over the device with interest, as Fred finally straightened and handed a clamp back to Gunn. "It's a Temporal Anomaly Registration Device," she said, picking it up and looking it over critically. 

"Yes of course it is," Wesley said, still mystified, but unwilling to appear as if he didn't know. "And what inspired you to invent one?" 

Gunn answered, as Fred continued to fidget with the instrument, making adjustments. "Well we found our demon in the books; they call themselves Time Keepers. There actually wasn't much in there we didn't already know: they can manipulate time, blah blah. Gauntlet, blah blah."

Wesley was disappointed. "Nothing we could use?"

"Actually, there were two points of interest," Fred said, standing. She stepped away from the two men slightly, surveying the lobby, and Wesley looked on curiously as Gunn continued.

"First off, according to the book, these time demons aren't supposed to like disorder. In fact, they call themselves Time Keepers because they consider it their job to keep time in its natural flow. They're pretty strict about it, too."

"So why would one of their number seek to not only **kill** Angel, but do it in such a way as to permanently disrupt the current timeline?" Wesley asked, bemused.

"That's the million dollar question. Too bad Regis didn't give us any lifelines." Gunn replied. 

"And what was the second point of interest?"

Fred aimed the modified instrument toward the office and flipped a switch. A high pitched whine sounded as the device powered up, and when Fred adjusted a dial slightly it started beeping. It was slow and steady, but it sped up when she swung the instrument toward the center of the lobby, where the demon had spent the most time during their brief encounter. The beeping continued to speed up until it was just one steady tone, and Fred looked excited. "The second point of interest was that a lot the Time Keeper's life energy is used up when it uses the gauntlet for displacement purposes. Until it's back up to full energy, it won't be able to create any new displacements. And that gives us a window to track it."

"Excellent." Wesley said. "But I'm still not clear on how your device is able to tell where the demon has been."

Fred explained. "Well, it all comes back to the gauntlet. The Time Keepers themselves are the power sources, but the gauntlet is what's actually manipulating time. Einstein's Theory of Relativity says in part that space and time are two aspects of the same thing. When one is affected, the other can't help but be. The same with matter and energy. So I took that a step further, to mean that on some level, there should be a physical result from the time travelling, even if we couldn't see it with the naked eye."

She flipped the final switch on the side of the device, and the screen mounted above the handle came to life. It showed the lobby in vibrant hues of blue, and Wesley could see there was a large concentration of some sort of glowing, swirling particles of a lighter blue in the air. He looked up sharply, but could see nothing above near the circular sofa the device was aimed at. He resumed looking at the screen, and watched as the particles continued to spin around with no apparent purpose. Fred watched too, pleased with her work. "Using the gauntlet leaves a wake of temporal displacement behind it, like turbulent water after a ship. All we have to do is follow the trail while it's still all churned up."

"Go Go Gadget Girl," Gunn said, awed.

Wesley stared at her in frank admiration. "Fred, that's astounding. Truly commendable work."

Fred blushed and ducked her head. "It's nothing, really. Einstein did all of the **real** work…I just built the practical application that could really "**see**" the metric tensors after displacement."

Gunn grinned. "See, now you **could** have just let it go at 'Thank you,' but the gushing's good too. It works for you." He glanced up at Wesley with a knowing smile. "Doesn't it, English?"

Wesley was still staring at Fred in admiration. "Quite," he said absently. Then suddenly he started as he realized what he'd just said. "Er…I mean…"

Fred smiled shyly, and Gunn laughed. "I'll get Angel," he said, "and we can go track this thing." He bounded up the stairs, leaving Wesley and Fred alone in the lobby. Fred powered down the instrument. 

"How's the other Cordelia doing?" she asked.

Wesley sighed. "She's confused, but that's to be expected. She's also not very happy with her confinement. Which she made clear to me numerous times on the way over to her apartment." He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It had been getting late **before** all of this started, and they were all growing tired. _But this can't wait until the morning,_ he thought. _The longer she stays here, the more opportunity she'll have to find out things she shouldn't. Time is of the essence._

"I left her with Dennis," he went on, "and instructed her not to watch the television or listen to the radio."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Cordelia sighed as another quick, demanding knock sounded from the wall, but she didn't stop exploring the apartment. Phantom Dennis was becoming increasingly frustrated, she could tell, at her refusal to follow Wesley's instructions. "Well, what does he expect?" she said. "I'm not the one who left you in charge. I don't know what kind of submissive freak I've turned into over the past two years, but you and Wesley both have another thing coming if you think I'm just going to sit here and wait for everyone else to figure out what's going on. I am the **original** Cordelia Chase, and I sit idly by for no man! Especially one who can't even get a decent car! I mean really, **what** is he trying to compensate for with that motorcycle?"

In the background the television and radio continued to blare as Cordelia prowled her apartment. When she moved toward her bedroom, however, a startled knock issued from the wall and she suddenly felt a presence before her, barring her way. Cordelia's temper flared. "You listen up, Dennis. Remember what happened when your mother tried to bully me around with her spooky ghost stuff? That's right, she got disintegrated!"

Silence answered her, but she still felt his presence between her and the bedroom door. She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms, shooting an icy glare in the general direction of where she thought Dennis might be. "Move it or lose it, Buster." she added threateningly. There was an almost audible sigh, and she felt him turn aside with a tangible air of resignation.

Battle won, Cordelia entered her bedroom and flipped on the clock radio there as well, mostly just to spite Wesley. In truth, she wasn't really even listening. She was looking for information.

It hadn't been lost on her that everyone had conveniently turned aside her questions about Doyle, and she wanted to know what they were hiding. As one third of the original Angel Investigations team, she felt that she was entitled to know. Imagining some fallout, she wandered into the bathroom. She started to reach for the medicine cabinet when a truly horrible thought struck her, and her hand came to rest on the mirror. What if he'd gotten back together with Harry? She wasn't marrying her demon fiancée anymore, and what better rebound than her ex-husband? Especially when he was obviously still in so much emotional turmoil over her?

"Well there will be none of **that** when I get back," Cordelia muttered, annoyed at the idea that she might not even get a chance to give Doyle a chance. She pulled at the cabinet and her reflection flew past her as the door opened. 

The prescription bottles caught her attention immediately. In fact there was no way she could miss them; they were scattered over each shelf. There were at least a half dozen of them, and when Cordelia peered at the labels she found that most were painkillers. She picked one up, tracing a finger over her name on the label. " **Junkie** submissive freak," she breathed, horrified. 

Replacing the bottle, she shut the door to the cabinet and her reflection stared back at her from the mirror with haunted eyes. "I don't know what's going on, Dennis," she said. She could hear the vulnerability in her own voice, but she couldn't seem to retain her usual bravado. "Nothing feels right here. I'm glad **you** at least are still here...everything else is so different. Even Angel is different."

She paused. "Dennis, where's Doyle?"

There was no answer from the wall, and the sense of foreboding she'd been nursing since she'd first arrived in this godforsaken time began to grow into full-fledged dread.

"Look," she said finally. "I know I'm not supposed to find out anything that could _contaminate_ the timeline, but he...he's my friend. I need to know."

She took a deep breath. "Dennis...please. Do you know what happened to him?"

From the wall there was a single, solid, reluctant knock. _Yes._

"Where is he?" she whispered.

Movement drew her attention to the top of the dresser and the jewelry box that rested there. The bottom drawer pulled out seemingly on its own, and a small gray piece of paper floated up and toward her. It stopped and hovered in midair before her, and she realized Dennis was waiting for her to take it. Suddenly, though, she wasn't sure she wanted to. Surprised to see a slight tremor in her hand, Cordelia quashed her trepidation and took the slip of paper. There was type on it, and as she started to read, she realized it was a clipping from the newspaper.

It was an obituary.

Doyle was dead. Finally it was just too much…all of it. When she read the date at the bottom of the painfully brief eulogy, Cordelia couldn't hold back the tide of emotion anymore, and stinging tears sprang to her eyes.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"I still can't get over this whole thing," Doyle said.

"Well **get** over it," Cordelia snarked. "I've been here for hours, now, and from the utter lack of progress, it looks like I might be staying awhile."

They had been researching ever since she'd finally convinced them she really was from the future, and they still hadn't found her demon. Having pretty much exhausted the material available in the offices, Angel had gone downstairs to peruse his private collection and see if he had anything else they could search through. With a sigh of exasperation, Cordelia snapped shut the book she'd been looking through and tossed it onto the pile of volumes on the desk. Choosing another one at random, she opened it angrily. "All this staring – not finding – is giving me a headache," she complained. "Why can't it ever just be in the first book we pick up? Why can't we ever just turn the first cover and go 'Oh my God, Weeeeee! There it is!'?"

Doyle was leafing through his own book, but his thoughts were still distracted by the time traveling, and the chances it presented. "Ya know," he went on after Cordelia's comment, "somethin' just hit me. If yer here, then where's **our** Cordelia?"

Cordelia looked up, startled at the possibility. "Living La Vida Loca in 2001?" she guessed. Interpreting his concerned expression, she hastened to add "I'm sure she's...I'm...she's fine. If **I'm** here, and I'm the future version of here, my past self has to be okay, right?"

Doyle nodded reluctantly. "I s'pose that's true." he conceded. Then his face suddenly cleared. "Ya know, this could open up a whole world of opportunities. I mean, think about what we could accomplish with the information inside your head. Think 'a the good we could do." He cast a sudden hopeful glance at her. "Say, ya don't happen ta' know how Satan's Steed does at the tracks this weekend, do ya?"

Cordelia leveled her trademark glare at him. "Like **I** keep track of the races. Please. I've never even gone."

Doyle grinned. "C'mon, Princess. Yer tellin' me that over the next two years I don't manage ta' drag you even **once** ta' the tracks?"

Cordelia was taken by a wave of sadness. "No." she said, suddenly subdued. "You've never taken me to the races."

Something in her voice alerted Doyle to the sudden downward turn of her emotions, and he tried to regain the joking atmosphere. "I find that hard ta' believe."

Cordelia was suddenly uneasy, and something told her to watch what she said here. Deciding that sarcasm was the best defense, she said, "I don't even **want** to know about what you find hard. But I've never been to the races, nor do I plan on ever going."

Doyle cocked his head and studied her. Subterfuge and untruth didn't come easily to Cordelia...she was pretty straightforward by nature. Having been the butt of many of her blunt, and sometimes even tactless remarks, he above all people knew that Cordelia Chase did not pull her punches. So her evasiveness now was obvious to him, and a sudden urge made him want to press the issue. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he stepped closer to her. "What aren't ya tellin' me, here?"

She warily tracked his approach out of the corner of her eye and tried to conceal her nervousness. This was the moment she'd been dreading. Questions of these kind were the ones she didn't know how to answer. She couldn't tell him the real reason they'd never gotten the chance to go **anywhere** together....could she?

Struck dumb by that sudden, forbidden thought, she was barely aware of Doyle's voice as he went on. "I have ta' admit to a certain amount of healthy curiosity here, ya know." He glanced at her, trying to keep his expression nonchalant, but watching carefully for any reaction. "I mean, there's things I've planned on doin', and now I can't help but wonder if...ya know...if I ever did 'em." 

He stopped again, risking another glance at her. She looked deep in thought; he wasn't even sure if she'd heard a word he'd said. He steeled himself up anyway. A fella had to try, right? "For instance," he said, "one might wonder if we ever –"

"Stop," Cordelia suddenly commanded, distressed. She'd realized almost too late where he was going with his wonderings. He'd almost asked her a direct question about the future and, if pressed, she didn't think she could lie to him. "Don't ask me...anything. I don't think you can ask me anything. I mean...it's like the rules, right?"

Convinced now that she was hiding something, he pressed her. "Look, I'm just sayin' that –"

"Doyle," Angel said from the doorway, "she's right." Cordelia started; she hadn't even heard the elevator come back up to this level. Angel entered the room silently and placed the books he'd gathered from downstairs on the desk. He looked at Doyle. "We can't know anything from her time. Anything we learn could change **her** past." He indicated Cordelia with a slight nod of his head. "Which would change her present. And we don't know what that would do to her."

Subdued, and more than a little concerned that his questions might have jeopardized the chances both Cordelias had to get back to their own times, Doyle shut up. He tossed his book aside and grabbed another one from the new stack, joining Cordelia and Angel in the research.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Eureka!" Cordelia exclaimed.

Angel looked up, surprised out of his research by her outburst. Cordelia met his gaze a bit sheepishly. "You'll get that in two years," she assured him. "But look!" she said, sliding her book over so the others could see. "I found my demon!" She snatched the book back, thwarting Angel's attempt to actually get a look. She read silently from the text as the vampire waited impatiently. Doyle, already standing, walked over behind Cordelia's chair and peered over her shoulder at the illustration. 

"Interestin' look," he noted.

"I hear you," Cordelia said. "With the horns, and the gauntlet, and the shiny glowy scales." She tilted her head, remembering. "Actually the scales were kinda neat. He wasn't bad looking, for a demon."

Doyle straightened, unsure whether or not to be offended. "Fer a demon?" he asked.

Cordelia looked at him. "Come on, Doyle, I said I was okay with it. I **never** said you'd win any beauty pageants."

Angel cleared his throat. When they both looked at him, startled, he said "Cordelia? The demon?"

"Oh, right." Cordelia bent her head again to the book, and flipped through the pages as she skimmed the information. "Yeah, I knew that....oh, ew. **That's** what the horns are for? Ouch. Ooh...here's something. Time Keepers, they're called." She frowned. "Hm. They're supposed to be really set on not messing with the timeline in any way..." She looked up, puzzled. "So then why did he send me back here?"

"Well, why would he 'a been after ya in the first place?" Doyle asked. "Owe 'im some money?"

Cordelia looked askance at him and matched his questioning tone. "Is my name Allan Francis Doyle? Of course I don't owe him money. Besides, he wasn't even aiming for me, I just jumped in the way when he fired at – " 

She broke off abruptly, glancing up at Doyle and Angel with an expression near guilt on her face. "When he fired at...someone else, who was not me." she finished lamely. 

Doyle observed her silently, his arms crossed. She was being evasive again, just as she had been when he'd tried to find out if he'd ever worked up the nerve to ask her out. What was going on here? What was she hiding from them?

Angel leaned across the desk and lifted the book from Cordelia's hands. He flipped through it briefly. "There's not much in here to go on," he said. "We're gonna have to pick up more volumes on this subject, and this kind of demon if we're to have any hope of reversing this."

"Well, at least we know what we're lookin' fer, now." Doyle said.

"Right," Cordelia agreed, standing up. She held out a hand to Angel. "I'll take your car."

Angel regarded her dubiously. "My car?"

"Well yeah. I mean it's daylight, hello? Unless you'd like to coat the sidewalk in a fine, ashy layer, you'd probably better stay out of the sun. And since we don't have a Demons 'R' Us within walking distance, I'll need to borrow the car."

An edge of possessiveness crept into the vampire's voice. "But...my car?"

Cordelia made a sound of incredulous disgust. "Oh come on! I've borrowed your car lots of times!" He stared at her blankly, and finally Cordelia got it. "Just...not by this point in time. Right. Well, suck it up and deal, Mister." She held her hand out again, and stared at him until Angel finally sighed and reached in his pocket for his keys. 


	4. Chapter 4

Doyle swallowed the last mouthful of his sandwich and turned the next page of the book before him, taking care not to get crumbs on it. His eyes sought out the next paragraph, but it suddenly occurred to him then that he'd been the only one talking for awhile, and he looked up. Across the picnic table from him, Cordelia sat picking listlessly at her food, silent. 

It'd seemed as if her mind was elsewhere the whole drive over, and when he'd suggested they get some carry out – to be eaten in the park where there'd be less likelihood of being overheard as they continued their research – she'd responded in a distracted affirmative. More than once he'd caught her staring at him, but each time she'd quickly dropped her gaze with a curiously culpable look.

When he read through the whole next page of information aloud and she still didn't seem to be paying attention, he finally snapped the book shut and spoke up. "Somethin' on yer mind?"

Cordelia blinked, and the 'elsewhere' look in her eyes snapped away suddenly as she focused on him. She straightened guiltily. "No," she started to deny it, but then switched gears upon seeing the obvious disbelief on his face as he opened his mouth to press the issue. "All right yes," she admitted. "It's just…" She trailed off, trying to figure out how to explain without saying anything too revealing. "It's just…odd. Being here, at this time again. Being right here, in the not-quite-right-now."

She wanted to tell him more. She wanted to tell him how amazing and wonderful it was to see him again. But along with that, how much dread and despair she felt at knowing what was going to happen to him, all soon, and not being able to tell him. Doyle had no way of knowing it, but he had little over 24 hours to live.

Sometime during the drive over, it had finally all hit her. Where she was, who she was with…and the sudden disturbing but exhilarating possibility that had presented itself. She wasn't quite sure exactly **when** it had occurred to her, but suddenly she was all too aware that she was in the amazing position of being able to try and change the past.

It hadn't even occurred to her before…at first she'd been too shocked after what happened to think about the possibilities. And then she'd been focused on figuring out just what **had** happened, and how to get back. She knew she should still be focused on it. But somewhere along the line she'd quite abruptly realized that she might be able to save him.

There were two problems. Angel had pointed out the first; if she changed her own past, what would happen to her? What would happen to the Angel, Wesley, Gunn and Fred back in her own time? Would they just disappear? Would the new future just snap into place? With all of the new memories, what would happen to the old ones? What happened to the **people** that they were right now? Or did it matter at all what she did here? Had that future changed the moment she came back in time, and everything as she knew it there was already obliterated? Did she have the right to even be thinking what she was thinking, not knowing the answers?

She really needed Wesley and Fred, she knew. This sort of mental exercise was far better suited to them. But at this point in time Wesley was off playing Rogue Dork Hunter somewhere, and Fred was spending her third year in Pylea. The only two people she could go to for advice here were the very same two people she was supposed to be keeping in the dark about the future. She felt woefully inadequate as the only person who could make this decision.

__

Decision? she thought, startled. _Am I really thinking about this? _

Doyle continued to observe her. Something was obviously on her mind, and he wondered again at what she was hiding. Sure, he understood the whole "I can't tell you anything about the future" deal, but it seemed to him she was keeping something in particular from them. She hadn't seemed to mind making small, oblique references to her life two years from now, but Doyle found it disconcerting that she never mentioned any names. He didn't think it would hurt the future any if he and Angel were led to believe that two years from now Cordelia was still working with them. It was, after all, what they thought already. Yet he hadn't failed to notice that Cordelia herself had said no such thing. Added to her unusually contemplative mood, her evasiveness was beginning to gnaw at him suspiciously. Doyle frowned. "Sure yer not just still angry with me fer not tellin' ya about the whole half-demon thing?" he asked.

"Doyle," Cordelia said earnestly, "I **so** don't have a problem with it. I promise."

Doyle chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, mulling that over. "See, it's just that I've **seen** ya have a problem with it…" he replied. "With demons in general, that is."

Cordelia looked at him. He sat across from her, trying not to fidget while waiting for her answer, his troubled blue eyes not quite meeting hers. At that moment he looked so boyishly innocent, half expecting to get his feelings trampled on again, that she felt a mixed wave of tenderness, compassion, and remorse at the way she'd once treated him. She was in the unique position of knowing just how good a person Allan Francis Doyle really was, and it shamed her to have him sit across from her and expect her – rightfully, within his experience – to crush him. She surprised him by taking one of his hands in both of hers. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "I…I don't think I can really apologize for the way I was. All I can really say is that I've…changed. A lot. Over the past two years I've seen and done a lot of things that would've totally freaked me out earlier. I'm not the person I was." 

She looked at him intently, speaking almost as much to herself as to him. "That person, that girl. She was lost, and afraid to let anyone in. She wouldn't…**couldn't**…give you a chance because she'd been hurt before." 

Cordelia's voice turned soft and reflective as her gaze dropped to their entwined hands, "And she was so wrapped up in herself…that she couldn't even see what was right in front of her." 

On the last, she looked up at him again and Doyle swallowed, both touched by her sincerity, and unnerved again by the reason behind it. All of the pretty words were nice, but he found it curious that she should get so teary about it. Unless, of course, the behavior she'd noted went on for the next two years and she **never** gave him a chance, or…

__

Or if I'm not around for her ta' be givin' a chance **to**… he thought.

Cordelia watched the pleased blush that had crept across Doyle's face fade quickly into contemplation, and she worried that she'd said too much. _But I had to,_ she thought. _I had to tell him that much. When else would I have ever gotten to tell him? There are just some things that need to be said. There are some things that just…need to be done. _

She was pretty sure she knew what Wesley would say in this situation, anyway. He'd assume one of the stuffier expressions left over from his Watcher days, and cite all of the reasons why the timeline should be allowed to go on as it was meant to, and would no doubt seriously disapprove of any thoughts about changing the original course of events. 

__

But he doesn't know about the extenuating circumstances, she rationalized. _He never knew Doyle; he wouldn't care that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity! He wouldn't see how it's worth the risk to at least **try**…_

Cordelia's train of thought abruptly derailed and crashed. _It's worth it,_ she thought again. _It **is** worth it to try. I've got to at least try to change things. _She took a deep breath and focused again on Doyle. "I need to see the Oracles," she said firmly. 

He started at the sudden change in topic. "The Oracles? "What d'ya need to see them fer?"

"I need guidance," Cordelia responded, standing up. "And I know **you **know where they are. You're going to take me to them."

Doyle shifted uncomfortably. "Well, see, they don't really accept audiences from lower bein's and all…"

"And if I were a lower being, that would be a problem." Cordelia said brightly. She looked at him expectantly until, with a sigh, he rose and joined her.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The rat scuttled along the narrow ledge at the base of the grimy wall, his little clawed feet sure of their footing even on the sewer slime. With each step he paused briefly to test the currents in the air, which he knew from experience could bring a wealth of information. Food near enough to find. Other rats. Danger.

Sitting back on his haunches for a moment, his whiskers twitched furiously as he sniffed this way and that. _Down the left tunnel. Water…cardboard…sludge…excrement. Middle tunnel. Water…more waste…scraps…food…food…wait. Behind. Danger. Bloodsmell. Run. Hide._

From the tunnel the rat had just come from he smelled blood. Blood sometimes meant food, and food was good…yes. But sometimes bloodsmell meant other things. Things not so good. Dangerthings that could catch and eat. Quickly, quickly, he doubled back and scampered to the small niche in the wall he'd passed a moment before. Sounds now. Peoplenoise. Quick, inside. Hide. Quiet.

As the three humanoid forms rounded the corner a soft blue glow preceded them. It shone dimly into the niche, illuminating the rat. With a faint squeak he turned and delved deeper to escape the light, blue flashing dully across his long, pencil-thick tail before he disappeared from view.

Wesley's eyes flicked toward the sound. "Fred, shine the torch over there," he said, indicating the direction with a slight gesture of the device he held.

Fred obediently played the flashlight over the wall on their left, bringing the bright focus down to the base where there was nothing more to be seen than a small crack at the bottom. That, and other things Wesley really didn't want to contemplate while trudging through the muck and slime of L.A.'s sewers.

"It was just a rat," Angel said dismissively, not looking. His eyes were still trained keenly on the passage before them, tense and alert for any sensory input.

Wesley glanced back down at the instrument he held. Despite its unfortunate acronym, the Temporal Anomaly Registration Device had worked perfectly thus far. Following the wake of the Time Keeper's displacement, the three had left Gunn watching over Darla and headed out of the Hyperion. The trail had led them almost immediately to sewer access via a manhole, and they'd descended into the dregs of L.A. For the past two and a half hours they'd tracked the demon through what felt like kilometers of winding, twisting, endless tunnels. Angel was at his right, ever ready, ever alert for any sign of the Time Keeper. Fred, to his left, was in charge of illumination, while also being on hand to help interpret the machine's results. Between them, Wesley bore the weight of the detector, relentlessly trudging through the scum that lapped at the back of his calves as he kept his eyes on the monitor. "I think we're getting closer," he said.

"You said that an hour and a half ago," Angel commented. 

"Well, no doubt we **are** closer to the demon than we were an hour and a half ago, yes?" he replied crossly. 

"I'll have to take your word for it," Angel answered snidely. Wesley took a breath, preparing to launch into a retort, but then stopped short of following through and calmed himself. The conditions of their search were getting to all of them, he knew. They'd been on the trail for quite awhile, and so far they'd found nothing more than miscellaneous flotsam and jetsam, murky rain water of disturbing viscosity, and garbage. All debris from the world above. They were all on edge after hours of searching the darkness for any movement, any sound, and snapping at each other wouldn't help keep their senses honed. He said as much to Angel. 

The vampire beside him half-shrugged. "I'm still not sure why you're so worried. I mean, you said this thing used up a lot of its energy when it fired off that gauntlet, right? And it can't create any new disturbances."

Wesley frowned. "Yes, that's true, but…"

"So our priority is to just **find **him," Angel interjected. "We have to find him, and make him reverse what he did to Cordy."

"And we will," Fred said, her voice a calming influence in the dark. "But we can't assume he's defenseless."

"Yes," Wesley agreed. "He did use the gauntlet as a weapon before he triggered the disturbance, and we don't know whether or not that function has been disabled as well."

"And," Fred continued, "just because he can't create any **new** disturbances, doesn't mean he can't…"

She cut off abruptly as the steady beeping from the mechanism suddenly sped up and became a solid tone. On the monitor Wesley could see a higher concentration of the temporal anomalies swirling all around them. "Angel. Fred." he said.

Instantly they both tightened ranks, flanking him on either side. Fred was still a little too far away for his liking, however, and he was about to call out for her to move in closer, but then he caught movement on the monitor. 

Eyes riveted, he watched as what looked like a pure burst of anomaly edged onto the screen. It hesitated, and then moved forward again, toward them. "Fred," he whispered. "What's the range on this device again?"

To his left, and a little behind, Fred warily scanned the tunnel behind them, white-knuckled hands clutching at her flashlight. "Three meters," she said.

Wesley's head jerked up, just as Angel breathed, "Nine feet." 

Suddenly there was an explosion of water, and the Time Keeper rose up behind them, right in front of Fred. She didn't even have time to scream before it was lifting her, shoving her back against the wall. Wesley didn't stop to think. With a yell he charged the demon, swinging the device in his hands upward like a golf club. Its arc was perfect, and all of his strength was behind it. It landed with a satisfying CRACK under the demon's jaw, and he reeled backward, reflexively letting go of Fred as he flew back several feet before crashing to the floor of the passage with a splash.

Fred fell to one knee in the slime and muck, gasping for air and clutching at her neck. Wesley rushed forward to her even as Angel flew past him in his game face, pouncing on the Time Keeper with a low-throated growl.

Wesley dropped the now-useless tracking device and hooked his hands under her arms, hauling her up. "Are you all right?"

Still choking, stumbling to her feet, she gasped out a warning to Angel. "The gauntlet…_cough_…look out for the gauntlet!"

Whether Angel heard her cry or was led by blind luck, Wesley wasn't sure. But at just that moment the vampire ducked to sweep the demon's legs out from under him, and the blast from the gauntlet pulverized the wall of the tunnel, instead of flesh and bone. Through the rain of rubble and dust Angel rose and snapped a leg out, kicking the gauntleted arm away from him. He followed through with a right cross, and the demon stumbled back from the force of his blow. 

Wesley darted from Fred's side, sludging through the knee-high water as quickly as he could to join the fight. He leaped onto the Time Keeper's back and then immediately regretted the maneuver when Angel's next punch sent them both crashing into the opposite wall. "Oomph!" Wesley huffed, but continued to cling like a limpet to the demon as it rebounded and landed a swift uppercut to the vampire's jaw. Angel flew back past Fred, impacting against the tunnel junction and then falling down into the rank water. Enraged, the demon bent over and flung Wesley from his back with a flip, and the former Watcher found himself briefly airborne. The next thing he knew he was aching and wet, and lying in a tangle with Angel, who had just been getting to his feet when Wesley slammed into him.

Fred had no time to spare a thought for her fallen friends; she was pretty sure she knew what the demon was going to do, and if he wasn't stopped, all was lost. So for lack of any other option, with no weapons or hope of besting him physically, she rushed him anyway. 

The demon actually looked up in surprise at the thin girl who suddenly came at him, beating ineffectual fists against his chest. With a slight movement he shoved her away, and she fell down. She looked up to see him making an adjustment to the gauntlet, and her heart thudded. "Stop him!" she shouted.

From the junction, Wesley and Angel struggled to separate from each other. 

"Wesley, that's my **leg**!"

"Get up! Get off…bloody wanker!"

Fred watched helplessly as the demon finished, triggering the device. There was a small charge, making the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand up as a flash of light blazed around the Time Keeper, and then he vanished. All that remained was the strong, pungent smell of burnt ozone. 

Angel finally managed to get to his feet – and stay there – and looked at Fred, then Wesley. "What just happened?" he demanded.

Wesley sighed. "I was rather hoping he wouldn't have enough energy left, still. Or that there wouldn't have been enough time to store enough up again."

"What does that mean?" Angel asked, annoyed now that he'd been denied possibly vital information. 

Despite the slime that coated the wall, Fred leaned her suddenly aching body against it and tried to calm down. "He used his gauntlet," she said. 

"I thought he couldn't create any more disturbances?"

"No **new** disturbances," Fred clarified. "That's what I was trying to tell you before he showed up. He used a lot of his energy earlier. Almost all he had. There wouldn't have been enough left inside him to create another tunnel in time. All he **can** do until he stores enough energy back up, is travel down the most recent one."

"Straight to Cordelia," Angel realized. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Doyle led Cordelia down the rickety stairs, and she took note of where he'd stepped, following exactly. The old post office upstairs wasn't in much better shape than the dilapidated staircase they now descended, and she had no desire to fall through the weakened wood to the floor below. _Because I have both been there, and done that, and impalement is **just** as painful as it looks, _she thought.

Pushing the unpleasant memory to the back of her mind, she carefully followed Doyle to the bottom, relieved when they were on solid ground again. So closely was she following him that she nearly collided with his back when he stopped abruptly before a white, bricked-up archway. Its curving arc nearly met the ceiling at its peak, and she could see an engraved script across the top. It looked ancient. Latin probably, she thought, though she was clueless as to what it might say. The thought made her suddenly realize just how much she and Gunn had always relied upon Angel and Wesley to translate everything for them, and she made a mental note to ask Angel to add Latin to their daily training sessions. In the next moment, however, her spirits sank as she remembered what she was here to find out. If she could change things here, she and Angel might not even exist in the same capacity in the new future. In that adjusted timeline, would she even have ever asked him to teach her to fight?

Unsettled by the possible ramifications of what she was thinking of doing, it took a moment to register what Doyle was saying to her.

"Sure ya wanna do this?" he asked, sprinkling the herbs he'd told her he'd need in order to summon the Oracles.

Cordelia quashed her worries and felt her resolve washing back up to support her. She nodded resolutely. "I have questions only they can answer." 

Doyle finished and glanced at her, rubbing the back of his neck uncertainly. "I'm still not sure this is gonna work," he confessed. "I mean, I don't know if they'll be willin' ta' see you. **I'm** not even permitted ta go in, an' I'm a messenger."

"Oh, they'll see me." Cordelia said confidently. She stood in front of the archway nervously, however, not quite as certain as her words would imply. After all, **she** was 'just' a messenger too. Doyle reached into his pocket and pulled out a cheap kitchen butane lighter. Igniting it, he dipped it quickly into a bowl that sat atop an altar before the archway. Though there'd been nothing in the bowl that she could see, it burst into immediate flame, as Doyle said "We beseech access to the knowing ones."

A bright white light blazoned from the suddenly open archway, so bright it made them squint. "They'll see you," Doyle shouted above the wind that had sprung up out of nowhere, "go in!"

Taking a deep breath, Cordelia stepped through.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Uh oh," Fred said. 

Angel didn't turn around. "What is it?"

Fred looked down at the small, rectangular piece of paper she'd found and swallowed. This was bad. "I really think you should see this." 

Angel did turn at that, and joined her in the corner of what could only be called the Time Keeper's lair. After its disappearance, the three had searched the tunnels a bit further and found where the demon had been holed up before attacking them. Even though he couldn't have lived there for very long, he'd accumulated a surprising amount of material possessions, and they'd been there sifting through them for quite awhile now, searching for clues as to why the demon would have wanted to come after Angel. Wesley joined them from his own side of the dank, water-logged room, and looked down at the small slip of paper Fred held. It was a business card, and when he read the name on it the room suddenly seemed colder. 

"Lilah," Angel snarled, snatching the card violently as if he could inflict pain upon its owner through the paper. "You were right. Wolfram and Hart is behind this."

Wesley frowned. "I'm still uncertain as to why they suddenly seem to want you dead, though," he mused, "when up until now you've been the focus of so much interest."

"They're done with me," Angel said flatly, flicking the card back into the dietrus of the room. 

Fred's brow furrowed. "But if they're done with you," she asked, "what's their new focus?"

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Though he was tired, and bored, and annoyed that he'd drawn the short straw in being left behind to deal with the pregnant undead, the crossbow Gunn held never wavered in its aim. From the tip of the bolt across to Darla's heart was exactly thirteen feet, four inches, and he would make sure it flew straight and true should she try anything. "Anything" included, but was not strictly limited to: biting, fighting, trying to get away, or giving birth to some psycho, evil, demonic baby thing. _And if she doesn't watch it,_ he thought, _I'm gonna add bitchin' and moanin' to that list, and then she's gonna be in for a world of hurt._

All posing aside, he was actually kind of uneasy being there alone. Sure, he'd babysat Darla before, but never when there was no backup in the building. Not that he couldn't take care of her himself, but there was still an indefinable something that nagged at him. Her pained, inhuman whimpering made his blood run like ice water, and he wished again that none of this had happened. That he hadn't been left here tonight, that Cordelia hadn't been sent back in time, that Wolfram and Hart had just left Angel alone and not pushed him to do what he'd done. Hell, there were a lot of things he'd wish for if anyone up there were listening. But the Powers That Be don't take requests, apparently. Otherwise he'd have been able to save his sister. Almost two years ago now, and that one still hurt. Would always hurt, he knew. Intellectually he knew what happened to Alonna hadn't been his fault, but deep down inside he just **felt** he should have done something more to protect her. But he couldn't go back; he couldn't change the past. Nothing he could ever do now would give him another chance to save her. Nothing would bring his sister back to him. And it was all because of vampires. Vampires just like the one lying on the bed across from him. And though this one was crying in agony, assailed by a pain none of them could truly grasp, Gunn knew better than to let his guard down, even for a second. And so, the crossbow remained steady as a rock.

Abruptly the vampire's high-pitched keening halted, and Gunn's hackles rose at the sudden, pressing silence. "Did you hear that?" she whispered fiercely. 

On edge, alert for any kind of trick, he asked "Hear what?"

"That sound…downstairs. Someone's here. Not Angel."

"How do you know?"

"Vampire, remember? Acute senses? I can hear noises downstairs. It's not Angel. You have to go see who it is."

Suddenly suspicious of a trap, Gunn backed away from the bed until he felt the wall behind him pressed firmly against his shoulders. "Come on," he said. "Get back on the planet! No way am I leavin' you alone in here."

Darla struggled to sit up, her swollen belly impeding her. "You idiot!" she hissed. "It's not me you should be afraid of!"

She'd only managed to get one leg off the bed by the time Gunn heard it, too. The sound of many feet running up the main stairs. Voices shouting their position and progress to others in the building. And all of it was getting closer. 

He swung the crossbow toward the door and mentally damned himself for not having more weapons at his disposal, though from the sound of the sheer numbers that approached the room he surmised that no amount of weaponry would help him win now.

Darla stumbled the rest of the way off the bed and shared a terse glance with him, then prepared to fight. Gunn barely had time to marvel over the fact that he was about to go into a battle with a soulless vampire on his side before the door was kicked open, and several men in black ops outfits swarmed in. 

The first was felled by a fatal bolt from Gunn's crossbow; the second fell just as quickly when Darla launched herself at him. The mere human stood no chance against her enhanced vampiric strength, and he scarcely had time to register the blonde fury that attacked him before he was beyond registering anything, his head landing with a solid thud on the floor. 

She spared him no more thought, and quickly sank her teeth into the next masked human, as Gunn sent another bolt into the fourth man to enter the room. It wasn't quite on target, and he only recoiled from the hit briefly before advancing again, closing the distance between them. Backed into the corner, Gunn had no option but to engage the intruder point blank. He struck the man across the face with the crossbow, hard, and he went down. Gunn looked up, shaking perspiration from his brow with an angry nod. Darla was on her fourth attacker now, and losing no steam. But the intruders just kept coming; the room was filling with them now, more than they could possibly hope to fight.

Gunn tried anyway, cursing when he realized the crossbow was jammed from the blow he'd administered to the masked intruder. With no other choice, he swung it wildly at the next one that came at him. The man fell, but there was another behind him. And another, and another. Overwhelmed by the masses, he continued to fight until suddenly blind agony arced through him. His body jerked rigid, held painfully taut. Through the haze of pain he saw another attacker before him holding the taser that currently had its dual prongs embedded in the skin of his chest, though his shirt. After seemingly endless torment, the man finally released the button on the device and Gunn fell bonelessly to the floor. 

As if through a fog, he was still dimly aware of the events going on around him. People stepped carelessly over his body, moving all around the room. Darla struggled in the corner, killing half a dozen more men before she was finally subdued. 

With his cheek pressed against the floor, head turned toward the door, all Gunn could see were Darla's bare feet as she was dragged kicking and snarling from the room. And there were boots, many boots, running to and fro. And there…at the door…that pair of feet was wearing….high heels? 

The heels paused at the door, then stepped in confidently toward him. Stopped. 

Gunn struggled to turn his head, to look up and see the face of the woman he already knew would be standing in those shoes. But he couldn't raise his head from the floor, however, and instead sank into oblivion.

As the man on the floor before her lost his grip on consciousness, Lilah Morgan pulled out her cell phone and dialed the first number in the address list. There was one ring, then the line was picked up. "We've got her," she said. "We're on our way back now. Make sure everything's ready."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

There was a flash, and Cordelia suddenly found herself in another room, with another archway. Only this one was unblocked and flanked by pillars; it led off to some unidentifiable place bathed in white. Overall, the whole effect was classic Greco-Roman, and Cordelia's nose wrinkled.. _Hel**lo** to the Clash of the Titans décor,_ she thought. _And I thought **I** was stuck in the past._

The only thing that offset the authentic classic ambiance of the room was the blue cast on everything. Cordelia didn't see a light source anywhere, but nonetheless everything in the room was clad in blue tones…including the two forms before her. A moment later she realized she was wrong; they weren't blue because of the lighting…they were just **blue**. As they stepped toward her, she could see shimmering gold swirling through the blue of their skin like the dark veins in the marbled walls all around her. The flowing dark material sliding back around their legs with each step revealed that the pigmentation covered their whole bodies.

The male strode forward. "We do not accept audiences from lower beings."

The female, however, sounded less strident when she spoke, looking almost as if Cordelia's presence there intrigued her. "You are out of your time," she noted.

Cordelia rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a 'duh'," she answered, before turning on the male. "And you. Listen, Buster, that 'lower being' crap might work on Angel – 'cause let's face it, the boy lives to punish himself, so why shouldn't everyone else? – but I haven't got anything to atone for. The only thing in **my **past I'm guilty of is being a bitch, so would it really kill you to grow some manners?"

"The affairs of mortals are none of our concern." he replied hotly.

"Oh I think they are, Sheet Boy. In case you've forgotten, we _mortals_ are the ones running around putting our lives on the line, fighting your battles. And while I'm on the subject, what **is** up with the toga? You're like a frat boy with body paint. And way too much hair gel."

The blonde oracle blinked, momentarily at a loss for words following her diatribe, and Cordelia went on. "The point is, I may not be your Champion, but I **am** the messenger. And I think I'm entitled to a little respect."

The female Oracle spoke up again. "Have you brought a token?"

Cordelia arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, Angel told me about the little scam you've got going on down here." She held up her wrist, indicating the bracelet she wore on it. "This is yours, if – and only if – you actually answer my questions clearly. No riddles, no vague prophecies, warnings, or disclaimers, and absolutely **no** cryptic remarks. Got it?"

"Ask your question then, and be gone," the male said. His annoyance was clear, and it was only compounded by the fact that his sister seemed willing to grant the mortal an audience despite her ridiculous demands.

"Again with the rudeness!" Cordelia exclaimed, before she shut him out completely and focused on the dark haired oracle. 

She, too, was clad in a toga, and her hair was swept up in classic Roman fashion, interwoven with golden leaves and decorations; only spiraled ringlets hung down, framing her face. She gazed at Cordelia calmly. "You said I'm not supposed to be here," Cordelia said, "and you could not **be** any righter. And I know that I could really screw things up just by being here; I need your help."

The oracle remained still, her face expressionless. "In this, we cannot help you."

Cordelia frowned. "Why not?"

The male oracle chimed in again. "We played no part in bringing you here…ours is not to put right your dilemma."

"What, my dilemma's not good enough for you? What's wrong with my dilemma?" Cordelia demanded. "And…hey! You didn't turn Angel human to begin with, but you fixed his problem!"

"We did not alter his humanity, nor did we again immortalize him. That choice was his own." he replied.

"But you altered time for him," Cordelia countered. "If you can take a day away, why can't you send me back to my own time?"

The female oracle tilted her head slightly, her eyes unfocused as she appeared to be looking at something far beyond the confines of the room. Something Cordelia could not see. "That option is beyond us." she answered finally. "Time has already been shifted by someone who possesses more skill in it than we."

Cordelia sighed. "Why am I not surprised? Nothing can ever just be easy." She straightened, looking at the female oracle again. "All right, well…that brings me to my next question…"

"This grows tiresome!" the male snapped. "You try our patience, Messenger."

"And you try my fashion sense, Grouchy Smurf!" Cordelia snapped back, matching his tone. "I was **talking** to your less cranky counterpart, here. Jeez, what side of Mount Olympus did **you** wake up on this morning?"

Dismissing him, she addressed the female again. "Look, I think you already know what I **want**. What I **need** to know is if it'll hurt him. The first time around he atoned. He died a hero's death. If I change things…will that count against him? The last thing I want to do is hurt his chances, or his karmic standing, or whatever."

Both Oracles were silent for a few moments. They looked at each other, communing on some level Cordelia couldn't comprehend. Finally, the male spoke. "You should not meddle with the original course of events."

Cordelia's narrowed her eyes at his choice of words. "That's not what I asked."

Both oracles regarded her silently, unwilling to answer her. Unwilling…or unable. The moment the second thought hit her she somehow knew that was it. "You don't know, do you?" she said. It wasn't a question.

They both continued to watch her carefully, and she grew more excited. "You can't tell me because you don't know. You can't see it because it hasn't happened yet; not for me, not for you, or anyone!" Her voice lowered to a near whisper as she followed the logic. "That means there **is** a chance," she muttered to herself.

The female oracle's voice was a warning. "Things that were meant to be should not be changed." 

"But what hasn't happened can be avoided," Cordelia countered. "Isn't that what you said to Angel? And, look…you guys **know** he atoned. The Powers know, right? They can see the past, and the future, and they **know** he died to save us. Sure, if I change things that'll never happen, but…but think of how many **more** people he can help alive!"

The male oracle scowled, clearly not happy at the thought that she might go against their wishes, but his sister looked less hostile. Her tone was a warning, however. "But consider if you are wrong. What the consequences might be."

Cordelia did, and sobered. "I know it's a risk. And I don't know that I even have the right to change things when **he's** the one it'll be affecting…but…"

She trailed off, remembering the catwalk on the Quintessa. Remembering their one and only, life-altering kiss. Remembering his features change. From her memory, his words came back to her: _"Too bad we'll never know…if this is a face you could learn to love."_

Resolve strengthening in her, she addressed the Oracles again. "When it came down to it," she said softly, "Doyle made the right choice. He did what he had to. Not because he knew he was being tested, but because it was just who he **was**. Given that choice again, he'd make the same one. It's who he is. By trying to save his life here, now…I won't be taking that away from him. And I think…I know, that Doyle wanted more."

She stopped, and faced them, her chin jerking up, defying them to contradict her. They said nothing. 

"I've got to try and give him that chance."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

There was a flash, and she found herself in the outer room again, right in the middle of a fight. 

When she'd gone in to meet the oracles, she'd left Doyle alone in the room, waiting for her. Now he grappled with a tall, horned demon. Well, "grappled with" was the nice way of putting it. "Getting beat up" might be more apt. Even as Cordelia realized what was going on, it pounded Doyle a good one, and the half-demon went down. 

Immediately rushing to his defense, it wasn't until the tall, broad shouldered demon turned toward her that Cordelia realized just who and what it was that was beating up her friend. Its scales shimmered mutely in the low lighting, but she recognized the Time Keeper nonetheless. _It followed me here,_ she thought with a chill. 

The demon started to rush forward when it saw her, and Cordelia braced for an impact that never came. The demon was suddenly grabbed around the waist, and twisted. Doyle flung the Time Keeper toward the stairs, and it stumbled, landing against them heavily. It rose immediately, but by the time it was ready to attack again Cordelia had joined Doyle in a unified front. It studied them for a moment, and then appeared to reconsider its attack. Up close now, Cordelia could see bruises and abrasions on the demon's face. All over its body, in fact. It looked as if this were not the first altercation the demon had gotten into today, and it appeared to reconsider getting into another one when the odds were not in its favor. Watching them closely, the demon backed slowly to the staircase, then turned and ascended them quickly, escaping.

Cordelia exhaled a breath she hadn't known she was holding, feeling adrenaline still pumping through her body. She turned to Doyle and inspected the bruise that was already forming at his temple from the demon's blow. He didn't draw back from her touch, but flinched when she reached the swelling. "Are you all right?" she asked, concerned.

"I'll live," he said wryly. "But it's not me ya should be worried about."

Cordelia's hands dropped away from his face, confusion setting in on her own. "What do you mean?"

Doyle looked grim. "That demon, he wasn't tryin' ta hurt me. He was here fer **you**." 


	5. Chapter 5

Upon returning to the Hyperion – wet, stinking and defeated, they found a disaster area. 

It wouldn't have exactly ranked five stars in the brochure when they left, true. Tools and parts Fred had found unnecessary while building her impromptu tracking device had remained on the floor, and the staircase would require extensive reconstruction before it could ever again be returned to the condition it was in before the demon's first, wood-splintering blast.

But now the destruction was complete. Broken glass littered the carpeted floor, and as they tentatively stepped into the lobby it crunched beneath their feet. Light glinted off of Wesley's glasses as his head turned this way and that, surveying the damage. "The glass is all inside," he noted apprehensively. "Someone broke in. Many someones."

Before he'd even finished the sentence, however, Angel was running past him, taking the stairs three at a time. Wesley and Fred quickly scampered after him, rounding the corner at the top of the stairs just in time to catch a glimpse of Angel's coattails as he disappeared into Darla's room. Even from where they stopped, hearts pounding, they could see the splintered door….the blood soaked carpet. Could smell the death. Fear gnawing at them, they went down the hall and looked into a nightmare. 

The room had undergone a gruesome transformation. It looked as if Stephen King, John Carpenter and George Romero had gotten together to redecorate, and each had left behind a distinct, macabre imprint of their most bloodthirsty conjurings. Thick, ropy strands of coagulating blood had been flung upon nearly every surface…the walls…the bed…the ceiling. Even as Fred watched, one such gravity-defying pool or gore coalesced into a mass heavy enough to drop, and it splashed with a wet PLOP! into another puddle of blood on the bedside table. 

Fred scarcely noticed Wesley push past her as she took in the carnage of the room. There were bodies…dead men strewn on the floor like the discarded dolls of a sadistic child. Some had obvious wounds; most had had their throats ripped out. All had bled, all had died. No stranger to death, Fred still couldn't control the wave of sickened nausea that churned in her gut. There was a gleeful ferocity evident in these killings, and she remembered a demon on a hillside dismembering the soldiers that had been sent after them. Controlling herself, Fred moved forward into the room, and that was when she noticed the fallen figure that Angel and Wesley knelt over. It was Gunn.

The state of the room forgotten, Fred rushed forward and fell to her knees beside the others. "Is he dead?" she cried.

"No," Wesley replied tersely, inspecting his friend for injuries. "But it appears he fell rather hard on his face when they took him down. He's bleeding."

In response to the voices, Gunn twitched beneath their hands, and the eye not currently pressed against the floor shot open, roving wildly. He jerked, trying spasmodically to rise, and Angel fought to hold him down. "Gunn," Wesley said loudly, "don't try to move. You've been injured."

Gunn shut his eyes hard, trying to gain control over his body's sudden trembling, as he remembered. I'm not hurt," he gritted out, "but they zapped me."

Wesley's expression grew more concerned as Gunn flopped over on his back, revealing the twin holes from the prongs of the taser in the shirt over his heart. "Then it's even more imperative that we get you medical attention. You could have internal burns."

"Listen to him, Charles," Fred chimed in. "The most damaging route of electricity is through the chest cavity or brain. Ventricular fibrillation of the heart can be initiated by a current flow of seventy five milliamps or greater for five seconds or more through the chest cavity of a hundred and fifty pound person. Obviously this didn't happen to you, because you'd be dead if it had, but even if the current doesn't pass through the vital organs or nerve center, deep internal burns can still occur."

"Thank you, Bill Nye." Gunn said, finally calming enough so that he trusted himself to stand. He got to his knees and Angel worriedly helped haul him to his feet. "I think I'm okay," he said. "If they wanted me dead, they woulda killed me." At this he turned to Angel. "But they got Darla, man."

Angel's voice was low and dangerous. "We found evidence in the demon's lair that connects it to Wolfram and Hart. This was all planned. They sent it to get me out of the way so they could get to her."

"But what do they want with Darla?" Fred asked.

"Not Darla," Wesley said, looking grim. "They want whatever it is that's growing inside her."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Angel looked over the new mountain of books they'd brought back with them from their excursion. "So how did it know you'd be there?"

"It had to have followed us," Cordelia said. From the coffee machine behind her, Doyle bobbed his head in silent agreement. "Doyle said it showed right after I went through the portal thingy."

Angel looked up at Doyle. "And you think it's trying to kill her."

Doyle half shrugged. "Either that're it wanted to compare notes on high heels versus sensible flats in the workplace, but I'm bettin' on the killin', myself." 

Returning the pot to its warmer, he ambled back to the desk and perched on the edge. He took a sip of the bitter coffee, winced at the taste, and decided he'd be safer dying from dehydration. He put the cup down. "Bottom line is, it started ta' go right past me like I wasn't even there. It was fixed on Cordelia."

"Yeah, and what's that all about? I mean, I wasn't even the original target. Why's it trying to kill **me**?"

"Maybe it's mad you got in the way," Doyle suggested.

Cordelia blinked. "Well that hardly seems fair."

Doyle fought and lost the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, 'cause evil, bloodthirsty demons are always so concerned with doing the right thing."

"But that's just it," Angel said, flipping through yet another book before tossing it back on the pile. "Every reference to Time Keepers I've found says they don't really even care about right and wrong. They try to stay out of it."

"So they're like, the Switzerland in the battle between good and evil." Cordelia surmised.

"They're pretty much known for being neutral," Angel agreed. "All they seem to care about is the natural order of the timeline. It's unclear whether they've always had this job, or they just appointed themselves to it somewhere along the line, but they're dead serious about it."

"All in all, though," he continued, steepling his fingers under his chin thoughtfully, "I'd say in the big picture they come down more on the side of good than evil. Which is why I can't figure out why it would have even tried to disrupt time in the first place."

He narrowed a look at Cordelia, who watched him cautiously. "I know we have to be careful," he said, "but I need to know a little more about what happened in your time, just to give me some kind of idea what the demon wants."

Cordelia's expression grew wary. "Like what?"

"Like…"Angel spread his hands, "who was it after?"

Cordelia bit her lip, glancing up at Doyle before looking uncertainly again at Angel as she deliberated. "It was you," she finally blurted to the vampire. "The demon was after you."

Unnoticed, Doyle looked down and swallowed. He was surprised at his own disappointment, and realized that up until now, he'd had it half in his head that Cordelia had jumped in front of **him**. After all, it was a somewhat romantic – if desperate – maneuver. Above all else, it shows you care about the person you're trying to save. And on top of the things she'd said earlier, he'd come to believe that maybe…

But no. It was Angel she'd faced death for. And that…bothered him.

Caught up in his own thoughts, Doyle didn't realize he'd zoned out of the conversation until what Angel was saying finally cut through his mental clamoring.

"…I mean, I must have really done something to piss it off in order for it to come after me like that."

Cordelia shook her head, adamant. "No, you didn't do anything. None of us did. He just came in and went postal on you."

"Maybe he was contracted," Doyle offered. When Cordelia and Angel looked up at him in surprise, he went on. "I mean, just because the demon itself didn't have a beef with Angel, doesn't mean someone else doesn't. Maybe someone wanted him dead and hired or leaned on this demon to do their dirty work for 'em."

Angel looked genuinely at a loss. "But who'd want me dead that badly?"

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

There was an old saying: If you want to make an omelet, you're going to have to break a few eggs.

As she walked into the state-of-the-art, specially designed birthing chamber, Lilah Morgan smiled at the adage. She watched the laborers – all under her direct control – busy themselves with last minute details, and reveled in her power. 

The seemingly eclectic assortment of scientists, doctors, technical engineers and specialists in the realm of the supernatural had actually been hand-picked by her specifically, and the slight twinge of fear she felt at the prospect of failure was by far outweighed by confidence in her own abilities. This is what the team had been selected to do. Everything had come together. She'd come too far…stepped on too many people…and she'd be damned if anything was going to come between her and the goals she'd set for herself now.

Yes…she'd broken quite a few eggs to get where she was now. And if all went well – and it'd better, or else there'd be hell to pay, literally – there'd be something in the range of six billion more eggs broken…which would make one hell of an omelet to serve the senior partners.

She watched as one of the technicians performed a final stress test on the titanium–threaded restraints that hung heavily from the sides of the flat table in the middle of the room. A bright beam shone down on the birthing table like a spotlight, and from among the circle of machines and various apparatuses rose the silver stirrups – gleaming now – that would soon be awash in blood.

Lilah heard the reinforced door hiss open behind her, and turned to meet the messenger that strode forward bearing a cell phone. With a scant nod to the man she brought the phone to her ear. "The final arrangements are being made," she started, but her carefully prepared report of success was abruptly halted by the voice on the other end. Listening stiffly, the glimmer of fear within her threatened to grow and she squashed it, forcing her voice to remain confident. "Yes, he's still alive…for the moment. The second squad has already been deployed; it's only a matter of time."

She listened again, and handed the phone back to the messenger when the call was concluded. Lips tightening imperceptibly, she whirled on her heel and stalked out of the room.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

In the office behind the lobby counter, Gunn impatiently jerked his head away from Fred's tending. "I'm fine," he said again. "As fine as I'm gonna get. An' I'll be a whole lot better the sooner we get outta here."

He appealed to Angel as the vampire brushed past them carrying several duffel bags. "Look, we already know they sent that demon to kill you. Now they've got Darla, and who knows what they're gonna throw at us next? We gotta vacate, man."

"I know," Angel said, kneeling down to transfer the weapons from the cabinet into one of the bags.

Fred nodded, encouraging him. "You have to hide."

Angel looked up at her. "Not just me. They know all of you, and don't think for a second they won't use you to get to me."

Wesley looked at Angel meaningfully. "Cordelia," he said.

"It can't be helped," Angel answered. "Whatever it is they're planning, I'm pretty sure they're not concerned with keeping the timeline intact. We'll have to pick her up on the way."

With that, Angel tossed one of the duffel bags to Gunn, who caught it easily and jumped off the counter he'd been sitting on. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about," he said, and started loading up.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The sun had started its descent in the sky behind the blinds, and though there were hours yet until sunset, the office had dimmed slightly. Angel had lapsed into silence behind the desk, contemplating the new – if sketchy – information from Cordelia, and Doyle had gone curiously quiet as well. Finally, the half-demon spoke. "So what'd the Oracles have to say?"

Cordelia snorted. "Nothing clear and concise, that's for sure. Which is why," she said, holding up her wrist and admiring the bracelet there fondly, "they didn't get this."

Doyle's eyes widened. "You didn't give them a token?"

Cordelia adopted a righteous expression. "I warned them!" she defended. "Nothing cryptic!"

He couldn't help it, a grin slipped out at her audacity. Clearing his throat, he banished the grin and aimed for a more serious expression. "But did you find out what you wanted to know?" he pressed.

Her gaze shifted, became a bit unfocused as she didn't quite look at him. "I think I already knew," she said instead. "I just had to be sure."

"Yeah? An' now who's bein' cryptic?"

"I have my reasons," she said.

"Oh, women always do," Doyle returned.

"Whatever." Cordelia said. "At least I'm speaking." She gestured toward Angel. "What's with Helen Keller over there?" She looked at the vampire. "Do I have to drag you outside to the water pump?"

"I'm thinking," Angel replied.

"And what has your spontaneous, self-induced meditation led you to conclude, oh Stoic One?"

"We need the gauntlet," he said. "It's the key. It's how you got here, it's how you'll get back."

"Now wait a minute," Doyle interrupted. "They…we…whoever. They gotta know she's missin' back in her own time, too. Whaddya think they're doin' ta get her back?"

"We can't depend on anyone in her time to help with this," Angel said. "We don't even know if there's any other way to get her back without using the gauntlet. And the demon followed her here…so they have no access to it."

"I hope they're okay," Cordelia looked worried. "When I…left, things were pretty tense."

There was a moment of silence as neither man knew what to say to this, and then she brightened. "The up side is that the demon's honed in on me. It's tracking me, and wants to kill me. So…at least we shouldn't have to look very hard."

She stopped and noted the stares she was getting. "Well…it's less of an up side from the 'I don't want to be hunted and killed like a rabid dog' perspective, but you know what I mean."

Doyle crossed his arms. "Y'know I'm thinkin', it might be smart if we all stayed here tonight. Safety in numbers, an' all."

Cordelia shot him a look…half annoyed, and half touched because she knew he was trying in his own way to keep her safe. "I can take care of myself," she admonished, but there was no bite in her tone.

"He's right," Angel chimed in. "The demon's fixated on you. It's best if we all stick together until we figure this out."

Cordelia sighed. "All right…but I've got to run home first, at least. I'll need clothes and stuff."

"Me too," Doyle said. "I'll drop ya'."


	6. Chapter 6

When the elevator touched down Cordelia just stood there for a moment looking through the safety cage at Angel's subterranean apartment. It had been over two years for her since it – and the offices above – had been destroyed in the explosion that nearly killed Wesley…and yet here it was, untouched…just as she remembered it.

There was the kitchen where Angel used to make them breakfast after successful missions. In the bedroom, she knew, was the bed little Ryan had been tied to as they tried to perform an exorcism…only to find that the demon inside the boy was the lesser of the two evils. Oh and look, there was the grate that psycho stalker extraordinaire Dr. Meltzer's creepy, disconnected hand had crept up to in order to undo the screws and gain entry.

Cordelia shuddered at the memory, and the eerie knowledge that many of the things she remembered happening here hadn't really happened yet at all. 

She was still standing there laden with her bags when Angel exited the kitchen, drying his hands. He stopped when he noticed her there. "Cordelia?"

She blinked, his voice plucking her from the tide of memories that pulled at her, and shook her head slightly to clear it. Shifting as he opened the cage door separating them, she answered, "Hi. I got my stuff."

Angel eyed the suitcases she bore with something akin to fear. "You're not…uh…moving in again, are you?"

Cordelia looked perplexed. "Huh?"

Relieved, he took a couple bags. "You've got to remember," he said over his shoulder as he led her down into the living area, "for me it was only a month or so ago that you barged in here shouting something about roaches with antlers, at your apartment in the projects."

"Oh yeah," Cordelia said, remembering. She had the grace to flush, slightly, and then noticed the vampire bearing her things toward the bedroom. "Angel, I'll take the couch. Just leave that stuff here."

He halted and turned slowly. "All right…who are you, and what have you done with the real Cordelia?"

She mock glared at him. "Very funny."

"Seriously," he said, placing her bags on the floor next to the lounge. "A month ago you held my bedroom hostage until Doyle found you a new apartment."

Cordelia smiled with a genuine look of affection. "What are friends for?"

Angel cocked her head, looking at her as if for the first time. "You've really changed," he observed. 

Cordelia sat on the couch next to her overnight bag and unzipped the main compartment, buying herself time to try and figure out how to explain what she wanted to say. "Part of it," she said finally, "is due to the things I've gone though over time." She looked at him. "But a lot of it has to do with the connections to my friends…of which you are one."

She smiled again on the last, and Angel found himself suddenly moved. Before he could reply, however, she changed the subject. "So…I passed by Doyle on the way in. I think he was nesting, or something."

"He's going to sleep on the couch upstairs," he said, looking at the elevator but watching Cordelia from the corner of his eye for a reaction. "Said he wanted to keep an eye on the door."

Her gaze also turned to the elevator, and then shot to him to see if he was looking. He carefully avoided her scrutiny by quickly averting his eyes, and shot for a casual tone. "He's got his moments, doesn't he?"

Cordelia's gaze dropped to her hands as she pretended to examine a stray ink mark on one finger. "Yeah," she said quietly. "Yeah, he does."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

They drove along in silence for awhile, everyone too stunned by the night's events to make ordinary conversation. Having one of their own replaced by an earlier version of herself was bizarre enough, but the abduction of Darla and her unborn baby was ominous, at best. 

For awhile they'd tried to figure out where to go next. Where they could go and be safe, at least for a little while. The only possible ally Cordelia could think of was Kate, but Angel had shot that suggestion down with a terse look, saying it just wasn't possible. She mulled that over as Wesley suggested someone named Lorne, but Angel didn't like that idea either. Bottom line, she realized, was that wherever they went they'd be endangering anyone who helped them. Gunn had wondered what they were supposed to do about the Cordy situation, but it was agreed that there was nothing to** be** done until they were free of this threat from Wolfram and Hart. Unsure of their next move, everyone lapsed into silence, and Angel just drove.

Wesley contemplated their situation quietly in the back seat, and Fred – after a last ditch effort to tend to Gunn's injuries – had also retreated into herself.

Gunn himself sat with one arm hanging outside the confines of the car, looking more at ease than any of them, despite his earlier ordeal.

Angel drove wordlessly in front, shooting the occasional worried glance at the girl in the passenger seat. 

Cordelia slumped against the door, her hair fluttering lightly in the breeze, listlessly watching the lights play across the windshield as they drove block after block. She'd been curiously despondent since they'd picked her up, but had said nothing at all once they explained the basics of why they had to run.

Angel kept his voice low, aimed for their ears. "You okay?"

Cordelia snorted, but even her derision was missing its usual fire. "Oh sure, everything's ducky."

A soft sigh drew Angel's eyes to the rearview mirror. In the back seat, Fred looked lost. "The whole timeline is damaged beyond repair now," she murmured unhappily.

"Oh, the timeline, the timeline," Cordelia snapped. "You're like a broken record. Don't you think we've got enough to worry about right now without trying to play timecop?"

"Hey," Angel broke in, startled by her sudden vehemence. "What is this? What's wrong?"

At her incredulous look, he amended his question. "Besides the obvious," he clarified, concerned.

Already feeling a twinge of remorse at her outburst, Cordelia turned again to stare dully at the streets passing her by, robbed of her sudden anger. 

"Cordelia?" he prompted, his voice low again…for them alone.

"I know about Doyle," she finally answered, just as quietly.

Angel started; of all the things he'd expected her to say, that might have quite possibly been the last. He drove in silence for a long moment, trying to think of what to say. Finally, he settled for asking the first thing that had popped into his mind. "How did you find out?"

Cordelia came back to herself, a little. "The other me…future me. She saved the obituary. I found it."

Angel sighed, regretting the circumstances that had necessitated her staying at the apartment instead of the hotel. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I was hoping to spare you from having to know. But I'd rather have told you myself than have you find out like that."

"Spare me from knowing?" Cordelia repeated, incredulous. "What, so I could go back totally clueless and not be able to stop it?"

"Cordelia," Angel said, clearly uncomfortable, "I realize that for you it's like it just happened. But the fact is it's been two years. You heard Fred earlier…if you were to go back and save him, there's no telling what could happen."

"Oh, there's telling," Cordelia replied hotly. "I'm telling you that I don't care. Because you know what? You're right. It **has** been two years. But not for me. And if I have a chance to go back and change things, you'd better believe I will. Because that's my time, and my place. And I don't see how saving Doyle could **possibly** make this future any worse."

Her tone had increased in volume over the course of her proclamation, capturing the attention of the passengers in the back seat. Wesley was alarmed. "Cordelia, if the situation presents itself you must not act on your compassion for a friend who has been dead for two years. His death is only a small step in a much larger course of events leading to this moment. Without ever having met us, his death has affected all of our lives. To interfere with that chain of events would not only change our present reality, it might wipe it out entirely in favor of the adjusted one. By saving one life, you could conceivably destroy millions."

Cordelia pondered that for a moment, unwilling to let go of the painful hope in her heart, but unable to deny the dismal possibility that Wesley could be right. "Okay, well this is all mooty anyway, because I'm not the me you need to worry about. Even if you could convince **me **me, the other me is back there right now, and she feels the same way I do. What choice do you think she's going to make?"

An uneasy hush settled over the car. "She doesn't necessarily share your views…" Wesley started to say.

"Please," Cordelia interrupted. "She's me. Of course she shares my views."

"Yeah but she's like, Cordy version two point oh," Gunn said. "She's got two years' more experience than you do. And I know for a fact she wouldn't want to give up the visions, 'cause even though Doyle could handle them better because of the whole half-demon thing, they're part of her now."

There was a full five seconds of silence, pregnant with strain, before Cordelia turned to Angel. "Because of the whole half **_what _**thing?!"

Gunn took a deep breath and looked up at the sky as if silently beseeching the VCR gods for a giant re-wind button. "Ah crap."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Upstairs, Cordelia stepped from the elevator; barely glanced at the thick, wide boards they'd affixed over the broken window earlier. There was something about the blackness outside and the quiet, abandoned feeling the building took on after business hours that made her step quietly. And so it was that Doyle didn't notice her when she paused in the doorway between the offices. The Irishman had somehow wrestled Cordelia's bulky desk up the three steps to rest on the landing in front of the door to the outside. He'd pulled the couch directly opposite, its back to Angel's office and the lift. Doyle himself sat upon the couch, muttering, a crossbow cradled in his arms. 

Cordelia smiled and stopped to lean against the doorjamb. She wasn't sure why she continued to be surprised by the evidence that he cared about them…would try to protect them. She supposed that even knowing what he'd done in the original timeline to save them, she still had all these memories of Doyle preferring to avoid the fight, if possible. To run away, she'd always thought.

Looking at him now, sporting a shiner gained in her defense, and guarding the no-man's land between her and the demon that sought her, Cordelia realized just how far off she'd been.

She started to step forward to make her presence known, but then halted abruptly as what Doyle was muttering to himself became clearer to her.

"Sure, Cordelia," he said in a low, mocking voice. "You can sleep down here…with me…**again**. Nothin' wrong with two beautiful people like us sharin' an apartment. Purely platonic."

Cordelia stifled a snicker as she realized he was trying to mimic Angel's occasionally monotonous tones. The snicker then turned into a choke as Doyle's voice went into a high falsetto. "Oh, thanks Angel. Ta' return the favor, why don't I save yer life by jumpin' in front a' you again in an overly dramatic an' romantic gesture?"

"Romantic?!" Cordelia exclaimed, all amusement having fled before the ridiculous notion. "Romantic? What in the **world** gave you that idea?"

Startled, Doyle fumbled the crossbow and accidentally jerked his finger on the trigger, causing the bolt to leap free with a _twang!_ and embed itself in the floor. He gaped, and Cordelia shook her head clear of all the noble, altruistic virtues she'd just been attributing to him. 

"Cordelia," he said, shifting on the couch, "Ya know it's rude ta' eavesdrop."

"And if that had been an actual conversation, instead of the Doyle's Paranoid Puppet Theater version of my life, I might agree with you.

He shifted again, looked uncomfortable. "Well what'm I supposed ta' think?" he asked, wincing inwardly at the defensive tone in his voice. "The whole reason yer back here is because you took a hit fer Angel. An' you won't answer any questions about you an' me in the future, an'…."

He stuttered to a stop as he realized what he'd just said…just implied. And what it would tell her about him, and how he felt. Carefully, he didn't meet her eyes.

Cordelia had come to the foot of the couch at her astounded exclamation, and now something inside her melted at his mortified look. She sighed and moved to sit beside him, and for a moment they quietly contemplated the bolt jutting out of the floor. Finally, she spoke. "I can't tell you about the future, Doyle. I can't tell you what happens because it might make you do things differently than you did the first time. And I just don't know what that would mean for the future." She grew contemplative. "I'm afraid too much has been changed already. And more will be before this is over. I…I don't know what I'll be going back to if we even **can** get me switched."

Doyle had turned to watch Cordelia's face as she spoke, relieved that she seemed to be – at least for the moment – pretending not to have heard him basically confess his feelings for her, and now he saw the worried anticipation in her face. The self doubt cleared from her eyes then, however, and she seemed to be looking only at him again. "But I **will** tell you this. I jumped in front of Angel to protect him, yes…but not because I'm in love with him." At his skeptical look, she clarified. "There is no thing, there has never been a thing, and there will never **be** a thing between Angel and me."

"Hm," Doyle said.

Cordelia arched an eyebrow. "Hm?"

Doyle looked away, adopting his patented "I'm obviously emotionally involved, but I'm going to play like it doesn't bother me either way" expression. "So ya don't love 'im."

"Well," Cordelia stopped. "I mean yeah, I love him…" She stifled a laugh at the immediate confusion on Doyle's face, and hastened to explain. "I love him, but I don't **love** him, you know?" She placed heavy emphasis on the second "love", drawing it out in a cheesy, melodramatic way that brought a slight curve to Doyle's lips. Finally, she sobered. "When I knocked him out of the way, all I could think of was that I didn't want my friend Angel to die."

Doyle mustered up the courage to look at her again. "An' if it had been me? Would you 'a jumped fer me?"

"Without a second thought."

Her response was immediate, and serious, and calm. And it blew him away. 

With the possible exception of Harry – and he couldn't even be sure of her anymore…despite their history they had grown apart, gone on with their separate lives – and of Angel himself, he couldn't think of anyone else on the planet who'd take a hit for him. Cordelia's revelation left him feeling floored, moved, and…God help him…falling even harder for her. 

And so it was that even through the anticipation and wonder, it seemed perfectly natural for them to be leaning in toward each other. Nothing short of magic when her slightly parted lips met his softly. His heart tripped in his chest, sped up. And for a long, endless moment, time stopped all together. 

Though the kiss was gentle, when he pulled back he wasn't surprised to find his breathing was labored. He watched in delighted disbelief as Cordelia took a long, steadying breath of her own. She smiled at him, a brilliant, wide, thousand-watt smile, and he lost nearly all remaining thought. She started to lean in again, and – helpless – he followed suit until he surprised them both by pulling back.

Confusion marred her lovely features. "Doyle?"

"Uh," he said. He wasn't exactly sure himself what he was thinking…but there was a vague thought swimming through the ecstatic haze in his brain that he suddenly felt he should pay attention to. "Uh…not that I don't…this is…I mean you know how I…"

"Doyle, speak," Cordelia commanded. 

"I'm tryin' to," he defended. "Give a fella a chance ta' recover, will ya?"

Despite her anxiety, Cordelia grinned and Doyle continued. "The thing is…as amazin' as that just was, an' everything, you uh…if an' when we get you switched back…"

"Oh," Cordelia realized. "Ah."

"Yeah," he answered, relieved. "An' plus, what's **my** Cordy gonna think when she comes back here an' finds out I was makin' out with a future version of herself?"

Cordelia tilted her head, thought about it. Imagined herself in that position. "She'd probably be annoyed," she admitted.

"Yeah," Doyle agreed. He was hesitant again when he looked at her. "So uh…are you…"

"Okay with it?" she finished for him. When he nodded, she nodded back, smiling a little. "Yeah."

He smiled back, glad that they agreed. Ecstatic that he suddenly had a chance. And even though he'd just reconciled himself to waiting until **his** Cordelia came back, he couldn't stop the automatic quickening of his pulse when she leaned in, cupping a hand to the side of his face and kissing his cheek. She stayed there for a tender moment against him, and he sighed, breathing her in. She smiled and pulled back, and he was heartened to see that there was nothing broken between them. With a final squeeze of his hand, she bid him goodnight and went off to bed.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

At the twenty four hour Denny's off exit 41, it was business as usual. Truckers taking a break from their overnight hauls rolled in for a meal, coffee to help them stay awake, and conversation that didn't include a CB radio.

They were joined by the third shifters just getting off work and the "get an early start" tourists staying at the hotel next door, lining up at the bar and filling the booths. And while the diner was by no means filled to capacity, there was enough business to keep the three sleepy-looking waitresses busy and the noise level constant. The white noise provided a welcome substitute for conversation at the booth in the far corner, where the Angel Investigations team had finally settled after their hurried retreat from the city. Though no one was really felt hungry, they'd all felt a strong desire to be around other people, and lights, and to be part of a world that knew nothing of apocalypse. No one had wanted to surrender to the little death of sleep just yet, despite the horrendously long night they'd all suffered through. So Angel had proposed that they go in for a bite to eat while he checked the perimeter for any sign of a tail, though only Gunn had been able to do more than aimlessly shift the food around on his plate.

Using the final piece of soggy toast as a crude sort of plow, he transferred the last bite of eggs onto the fork and shoveled it in. The toast quickly followed after sopping up the remaining traces of yolk. It wasn't until his plate was sparkling that Gunn looked up to see all eyes on him. "What?" he asked, dumbfounded.

Wesley blinked, still processing that truly outstanding display of consumption. "I thought you weren't hungry?" he asked mildly.

Gunn neatly stacked his bowl and silverware in a ceramic pyramid on the main plate and nudged it away. "Still got to have fuel, man. We're on the run like this, who knows when the next meal is, right?"

"Well, I'm glad **one** of us isn't too depressed to eat," Cordelia said listlessly. She stirred the oatmeal that had – so far untouched – slowly thickened into a congealed paste. For once she wasn't forgoing nutrition on behalf of the newest fad diet; rather, she couldn't get out of her mind the last time she'd seen Doyle. His worry over Angel going to face the Mohra demon – as a human – without Buffy's help had been made evident by the strain in his voice. Still, he'd found lightness enough within him to toss off a flip, amusing proposition before leaving, which she'd shot down more out of habit than for having actually thought it through.

Remembering now the date on his obituary, she wished that she'd surprised them both by saying yes.

"So," she said, wanting to change the direction of her thoughts before she became mired again in the what-might-have-beens. "I'm guessing the headaches Doyle used to get from the visions are worse for me, huh? I mean the other me. Like…beyond the help of two little, yellow, different pills?"

At Wesley's inquiring expression she explained, "I saw all the prescriptions in my medicine cabinet. Two-thousand-and-one me is quite the pill popper. God, who knew my mother would be right?"

"Doyle was better equipped to handle the intensity of the visions," Wesley verified, "due to the strength derived from his demon half."

"So what happens to me?" she asked. "When Doyle gets them, he…" she broke off. Visibly corrected herself. "When he **got** them, they gave him like, these migraines. What do I get?"

"Searing pain?" Gunn offered. "Incapacitating, blinding agony? Oh, and sometimes big old scratches and sores on your face. You looked like Freddy Krueger for awhile, there." He paused thoughtfully. "And you sounded kinda like Kathleen Turner." 

Cordelia shifted her alarmed gaze to Wesley, who was quick to clarify. "There was an incident where the visions began resulting in physical manifestations, but it was…ah…a fluke."

"A fluke?"

"A one time occurrence that won't be repeated," he said firmly. He sounded sure enough of himself that Cordelia found herself relaxing. "Still," she said, finally shoving the bowl of oatmeal away from her, "it sounds like I've got the one of the worst jobs in the history of mankind. So why wouldn't I want to get rid of them?"

"They've changed you," Wesley said quietly. "Being able to experience the pain and suffering of those we would seek to aid has helped to develop your sense of compassion."

She was slightly horrified. "So I'm what, Saint Cordelia now?"

"Nah, it's not like that," Gunn said. "You just care a lot, you know? It's a good thing. It's like Fred said not too long ago…you're the heart of the team."

Cordelia blinked. The heart of the team? That was…well, obviously this Gunn person must not know her very well, because Cordelia Chase had never been the vital member of anything more important than the Sunnydale High cheerleading squad. 

She was surprised at the pleasant warmth that diffused through her. Because really, here she was finding out that in two years she **still** hadn't been discovered as an actress, she suffered from excruciating visions that left her pained and weak, and she was **still** working for Angel – The Most Moody Vamp in the Universe. She should be pretty pissed right now. But for some reason the esteem in which her new – albeit even more bizarre than usual – circle of friends held her was pleasing. It meant something to her, she realized. Before now the whole of her life had been worrying about wearing the right clothes, hanging out with only the coolest (and therefore acceptable) people, and struggling to be the most popular girl at Sunnydale High…all for the superficial approval of the people she'd surrounded herself with. And now, here she was miles away sitting in a booth at a run-down Denny's with a motley crew of people fighting the good fight…who thought that she was the heart of their team.

Sure, there had been moments in the past when she'd felt that potential within her…that tug of conscience that seemed to want to pull her ever-so-slightly toward a different way of thinking. More often than not she'd been able to quash, cover, or ignore it, but then there'd been that whole bout of temporary insanity where she was dating Xander Harris. Though **that** exercise in obviously bad judgment had ultimately ended in impalement, a hospital stay, and a heart that she'd never known could be so bruised, he'd left some kind of undefinable imprint on her. Him and his whole merry band of freaks. Loser freaks, even. She still didn't know what she'd been thinking, but…

But while she'd been one of them, they hadn't seemed so bad. Sure, there were undeniable facets of each of them that just **screamed** "lame"… Xander's lack of taste in clothes, for instance. Buffy's weird fetish for bra straps back in junior year. And Willow's…

__

Oh, don't even get me **started** on Willow, she thought.

But despite all of the things wrong with them…there'd been an inner closeness that Cordelia had always envied. An annoying nobility to Buffy's high-handedness. A thoroughly galling naiveté to Xander's dogged devotion to his friends. And somehow, by letting them in for a little while, they'd changed her. Left her susceptible and more self aware than she'd been before. Apparently enough so that the woman Gunn, Wesley and Fred knew now was a wanted – even **needed** – part of them.

The woman they knew was the end product, she realized. The evolved version of who she was now. They **cared** about her. 

And all of the sudden…not being an actress didn't seem to matter at all.

"Yeah," Gunn went on, "you even had the chance to lose the visions not too long ago, in Pylea. But you wanted to keep 'em."

A soft sound drew Cordelia's attention to the waifish brunette huddled in the corner of the booth. Fred had momentarily come out of her self-induced fugue when they'd discussed alternate realities; wondered whether or not they were technically in one right now. She'd spoken with animation about the scientific and theoretic possibilities of paradoxes, about how even small, insignificant decisions can have huge impacts on a timeline, and how each of those decisions could be the source point for another alternate reality. While she allowed that it was possible the Time Keeper's gauntlet possessed some unknown quality that kept time fixed, no matter what was done to it, she believed that the grandmother factor made that impossible. When no one but Wesley had any clue what the grandmother factor was, she explained.

"Say that our Cordelia went back a hundred years instead of two. Back there she ran into her grandmother, and for whatever reason she ended up causing her grandmother's death. So if her grandmother never went on to have Cordelia's mother, how could Cordelia ever be born? And if she were never born, how could she go back in time and kill her grandmother? It's a paradox. This is the same kind of situation. If she changes something back there that directly influences the evolution of herself, it might lead to her never having been sent back in the first place. Which, naturally, would then render any changes null and void. Paradox."

Her monologue had served to remind her of the reality of the situation, and she'd sunk quickly back into her own personal melancholy. Now, at the mention of Pylea, her pretty face was sadder than ever. Mumbling an apology, she slipped quietly from the booth and headed for the entrance. By the time she reached them she was at a barely in control, and when she pushed through the wooden door swung back with a crack against the wall. Fred jumped and all but ran out.

"Skittish much?" Cordelia asked. "Jeez, she just bolted like a rabbit."

Wesley stared in the direction Fred had gone, clearly troubled by her apparent distress. "She's…had a hard time of it," he said absently. Without another word of explanation he stood and went after her. Brushing past Angel, who was just coming in, Wesley disappeared after the girl.

Distracted by Wesley's hasty departure, Angel glanced over his shoulder toward the door as he stopped at the booth. "What's going on?" he asked. 

"Fred's uh…well, being Fred," Gunn said. "Wesley went to see if she's okay." He looked up at the vampire, who met his eyes and then glanced at Cordelia. Getting the hint, Gunn stood, reaching into his pocket. "I'll just uh…go get the check. See y'all back at the room."

Angel waited until Gunn had headed off toward the cash register before sliding into the seat across from Cordelia. He watched as she reached out a nervous hand and played with the straw in her water glass. "So you didn't see anything?" she asked. 

A tail, he realized. She was asking if they'd been followed. "Nothing," he said. "But that doesn't mean there's not someone out there. They could just be waiting for the right opportunity. We've got to stick together tonight."

Cordelia almost laughed, relieving her tension with a sharp exhalation. "Two years and you still haven't got the comforting thing down, have you?"

Angel smiled. Here, at least, was familiar ground. Since all of this had started he'd been unsure of his footing around her; he hadn't realized just how much she really had changed over two years. But some things never would. And having been so close to her for the past two years, he was aware of how quickly the levity left her, replaced again by the contemplative mood she'd been in for the better part of the night. He even knew what she was going to ask before she'd opened her mouth. "To save us," he said. "It was to save us. And a whole cargo hold full of refugees. They were about to be wiped out by this demon army called the Scourge, who'd developed this weapon…"

He trailed off, and Cordelia was grateful. Whatever the weapon had been, it was almost surely the device that had killed Doyle, and she wasn't sure if she was ready to know the details yet. Angel looked down, gathered himself, and went on. "He knew what he was doing. And everyone walked out of there alive because of him."

"And I never even gave him a chance," Cordelia said miserably. 

This time he knew what to do, even if it wasn't enough. He covered her hand with his own and squeezed. "You would have," he assured her. "You would have."

Later, Cordelia stepped outside while she waited for Angel and Gunn. A large group of people headed toward her, intent on entering the diner, and she moved aside. Stepping away from the door, her attention was caught by the sound of voices around the corner. They sounded upset. 

Wary, she quietly made her way to the corner of the building and peeked around. Fred was there, crying, and Wesley stood near her, his hand on her arm, steadying her and lending comfort. "Even if we do find a way," she was saying, "you heard her. She'll go back there and change things. Even one minor fluctuation could change the entire timeline; you know that. It's impossible to predict what could happen. People could die."

"I know," Wesley started, but Fred was beyond hearing.

"People could die," she repeated. "And what about the slaves in Pylea? What if she never gets there and changes things? They'll just go on being enslaved and used as pack animals and tortured and I'll still be there in that cave and I'll never get out, never get home again, and I can't do it, Wesley, I can't go back there, I can't have never been here, I just can't, I can't."

Her voice rose in pitch as she tried to fight off the rising hysteria, and Wesley finally pulled her into his arms, running a hand gently over her hair and murmuring low, soothing words. Gasping for breath, Fred tried to calm herself. "I can't go back there," she said a final time.

"You won't," Wesley reassured her. "It won't happen. Cordelia would never do anything to hurt you, you know that. She cares about you." He pulled back and looked at her, wanting to know that she believed that. "We all do."

With a finger under her chin he tilted her head up so that she looked at him. Her eyes were liquid brown through the tears, and the fear and uncertainty in them made his chest tighten. He wanted very much to smooth the jagged edges of her distress, and so he acted purely on instinct, lowering his lips to hers for a feather-soft kiss. 

A few moments later, neither of them would have noticed Cordelia had she stepped clearly into view from around the corner. As it was, she retreated silently, lost in thought. For perhaps the first time she was able to look past the immediacy of a life that existed two years in the past. For the first time she could see the tenuous bonds that held this fragile community together, and how easily they could be dashed. And knowing that…if she **could** find a way to go back…could she really dare to change things? 

__

I guess the real question, Cordelia thought, _is will the **other** Cordelia dare?_


	7. Chapter 7

Cordelia was putting the morning coffee on when Angel emerged from the elevator. It was a fortuitous piece of luck that 1999 Cordelia had already planned on replacing the cheap coffeepot that 2001 Cordelia had broken immediately upon arrival. The spare had already been stored in the microwave cart. She supposed she and Doyle could have picked one up the previous night after stopping by their respective apartments, but after impatiently waiting for over a half an hour for Cordelia to come out of her room, Doyle had reached the limits of his anxiety. He'd taken her back to the offices like a mother hen riding herd on its chick. Slightly amused, a little exasperated, and with more than a few lingering reservations about what she'd just done, she'd let him. 

As her boss leaned his weight back against the desk and sighed, Cordelia shoved aside her second thoughts and examined his haggard appearance. His eyes were shuttered and dark, and Cordelia doubted he'd slept much at all the night before. 

While it was true that vampires could – and did – function just as well in the daytime as in the evening, most by far preferred to utilize the dark shadow of night for their waking hours. Since the sun was to be avoided at all costs, it made sense to sleep during the day so that they could wake with the night, to feed. That was the nature of the beast.

But the path that Angel had chosen for himself - the path to redemption - didn't always allow him to accommodate that nature, and so he slept little as a result.

Which was all well and good as far as explanations went, Cordelia knew, but it wasn't the reason for Angel's latest sleepless night. She'd shown up literally moments after Buffy had walked out of his life – again - and she knew he was hurting from that. Knew he was devastated and miserable all over again at the loss of the future he could have had.

A sudden pang of pity struck her and she realized how selfish she'd been. From the moment she'd arrived here she had monopolized everyone's time and attention, too focused on rectifying her temporal displacement to see how hard it was for Angel to hang on, to put his pain away so he could help her.

True, the concept of Angel in emotional agony was about as new and shocking as earwax, but that didn't make his pain any less real. And she realized with a stab of guilt that she'd done absolutely nothing to even try to comfort her friend.

Cordelia scurried to the microwave and retrieved the mug of blood she'd had warming for him and placed it in his hands. She'd seen those hands punch and pummel…they'd broken necks and hauled her back from the brink more times than she could count. But now those same hands were listless, and he held the mug absently, lost in thought. "Where's Doyle?" he came out of his stupor enough to ask.

"I don't know…out checking the final score on last night's game or something," Cordelia answered. She glanced around, looking for something to occupy herself with, a little uncomfortable as always when trying to verbalize meaningful emotions. Finding nothing to straighten or fidget with, she finally folded her arms and settled for not meeting his eyes. He didn't notice.

__

Okay, this is just getting pathetic, she thought. _Just say something…Anything._

She was opening her mouth to do so when Angel at last became aware of the mug in his hand. He took a hesitant sip, and a little of the melancholy seemed to lift from his shoulders as he looked at her. "Thanks," he said.

"It's Buffy," Cordelia blurted in response.

Angel blinked, and Cordelia squinched her eyes shut and fought the urge to smack herself in the forehead. "Not like that," she recovered quickly, opening her eyes again and approaching him earnestly. "I mean, it's not **Buffy's** blood, of course not. I just was thinking of Buffy, then you were drinking the blood, and I just said the first thing that popped into my head, and…" she trailed off as Angel continued to stare at her warily. "It's good blood. Not Buffy's in any way, I swear," she reassured him. "Go ahead. Drink it."

Angel looked down into the mug in his hands and then – in an exaggerated motion - carefully set it down on the desk a foot or so away from him. Cordelia sighed. "I just meant that it's Buffy that's got you down. The whole 'swallowing the day' thing. I just…wanted you to know that I understood."

The vampire just looked at her, saying nothing, but Cordelia forged on. "I can't tell you whether or not you did the right thing. And really that's up to you to decide on your own, anyway. And I can't tell you that I know what you're going through, because I don't. I've never been put in that kind of situation, thank God." She paused. "But what I can tell you is that with one possible exception, you and Buffy are the most noble, self-sacrificing people I've ever known. You always try to do what you see as best, no matter what it costs you. And I know it's probably worth next to nothing right now, but I do admire you for it. And I pity you for it. And I'm sorry." She finally looked down. "For what it's worth," she added softly, mentally berating herself for rambling. She almost didn't hear him when he spoke.

"Thank you."

Cordelia looked up to find Angel's solemn gaze on her. "And," he continued, a ghost of a smile on his lips, "it's worth something to me."

Her own lips curved in response, and then the smile grew as Angel picked the mug back up and drank again. When he'd finished he looked a little…well…a little more alive.

"So who's the other?" he asked, catching her off guard.

"The other what?"

"The other noble, self-sacrificing person you know," Angel said.

Cordelia's attention was caught suddenly by the front door opening as Doyle entered. "Uh…" she said, looking quickly back at Angel. "Just someone I used to know." She glanced back at Doyle, feeling conflicted when he offered her a tentative smile. His spirits were high this morning; his outlook was bright.

And today was the day he was going to die. 

Harsh reality crashing back in on her, Cordelia swallowed, steadying her rising anxiety. She hadn't gotten much sleep herself last night, due to the hard decision she faced. She knew that this morning was her last chance. After this final moment, this last opportunity, her decision would be irrevocable. Glancing at her watch, she took a deep, steadying breath and faced the two men as Doyle joined them in front of the desk.

"We need to talk," she started.

They looked at her expectantly, and she paused one final time. _Last chance…_

Cordelia exhaled. "We are in a unique position," she finally said. "There's…um, **stuff**…that's going to happen today. And it's important. **Very** important," she emphasized, looking at them meaningfully.

"And you want to change something," Angel surmised.

Cordelia felt her insides knot up in a fit of nerves. "Well," she rationalized, "I know what's going to happen, and I have a choice. I can either sit back and let it all happen again, or I can try to make it better. I don't know what would be the right thing to do in the grand scheme of the universe or whatever, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about consequences. But I've just…I've got to try to help."

She bit her lip in the gloomy silence following her proclamation and waited for the inevitable question. Doyle didn't disappoint her. 

"So…what's goin' ta happen?"

"Right now?" Cordelia asked, looking at her watch again. She took a step to the right and gripped the edge of the desk with tense fingers. "Now would be the migraine from hell."

On the very heels of her last word the vision crashed down on her, crushing her and rending her open to the pain.

Pain, pain…a rolling thunder of it that burned all independent thought from her mind. The visions seared her with their violent intensity and she reeled back, knuckles white as she reflexively clutched the edge of the desk to keep from falling. 

Angel started toward her, his immediate, instinctive reaction to help propelling him forward. He was suddenly halted by a crash behind him, however, and whirled to see Doyle pressed against the wall. The Irishman had stumbled into the mini fridge and knocked the brand new glass coffee pot off onto the floor, smashing it. He pressed the palm of one hand against his forehead as if to push back at the wave of images that assaulted him; his other hand tightly grasped the corner of the wall in a mirror image of Cordelia's reflexive clutching of the desk. 

Angel stopped indecisively, abruptly claimed by inaction as he was torn between both of his suffering friends.

Finally the shared vision ended, releasing them from their misery. Doyle slumped and rested, panting against the wall. Lacking the half-demon's more effective resistance against the worst of the pain, Cordelia had less control over what happened to her body and nearly fell. Recognizing now who needed his help the most, Angel rushed to her side and grabbed her before she could tumble to the floor and led her to the couch.

Sinking down gratefully, Cordelia reached into her pocket for the bottle of extra-strength Tylenol that she'd brought back from her apartment the night before and Angel fetched her a glass of water. Tossing the pills back, she glanced at Doyle's face over the rim of the bottle of Scotch he'd nabbed from the microwave cart.

He took a long swig – his own personal brand of pain reliever – and met her troubled eyes with foreboding. His own eyes were grim, he was sure, because he finally knew. Beyond the pain, beyond the vision's revelation that they would have to face the Scourge…the simple fact that Cordelia had suffered from the images too told him everything she wouldn't when he'd asked.

Angel was once again torn. "What the hell was that?" he asked Cordelia. He turned to Doyle. "What did you see?" Turning back to Cordelia, he interrupted himself. "And did you just have a vision?"

Cordelia broke eye contact with Doyle, not wanting to confirm the dawning of understanding she saw in him. "I wasn't sure if I'd still get them here," she said. 

Angel was brimming with questions as he watched the unspoken exchange, but he ignored them all now in favor of repeating the most important one: "What did you see?"

Cordelia nodded to Doyle, and as he told the story she remembered hearing about his first encounter with the Scourge from Angel…after. How his life had fallen into disarray after his discovery that he wasn't completely human. How one of his own kind, a fellow Brachen demon, had come to him needing help, and how Doyle had turned him away out of fear and not understanding.

And how, later, his first vision had been sent to him to show what the Scourge had done to those he'd refused to help.

"_We've all got somethin' to atone for_," he'd said to Angel once. The demons they would face now may as well have marched straight out of Doyle's own private hell. 

When it was silent again she leaned forward, sitting on the edge of the cushion, hoping to inspire a level of intimacy she'd need to exist between them all if this was going to fly. She took a deep breath. "Okay, this is where things need to deviate from the original scheme of things," she said. She looked at them both and went on. "I know you guys have questions. And reservations. And probably every other kind of 'tion' there is. And you're probably thinking…'why should we listen to Cordelia? She's an ex-cheerleader, actress-turned-lame-o-commoner. What does she know about anything, unless it involves shoes, or color coordination?' And I know we haven't really had a chance to bond or whatever by this point, but I'm asking you to trust me anyway based on the stuff we **will** go through together, and what we've become to each other by my time." She looked at them sincerely, willing them to be moved enough to go for it. She absolutely could not do this without them.

The two men glanced at each other…an evaluating, "what do you think?" kind of look. Cordelia watched them anxiously…then less anxiously. Then impatiently as their silent deliberations stretched on. Her patience waned and then finally snapped. "We **are** on a bit of a schedule here, you know," she reminded them. 

"Give us a chance," Doyle defended. "This is a big deal. We're not debatin' what color to re-paint the office, ya know."

"It's big," Angel agreed, "and there could be unforeseen consequences. Things could go bad…"

"Note to self," Cordelia interrupted, "never go back in time, because the people there won't listen to you even though you're FROM THE FUTURE!" She stared at Angel, frustrated but trying to remain calm so he'd take her seriously. "I'm telling you, Angel, things **will** go bad. I know. Okay? I was there. What this is, is an opportunity to make it better. Isn't that what we're here for? To help people? To save lives? We can save lives today."

Angel looked down, unwilling – or unable – to argue that point. "Besides," Doyle reminded him, beginning to be swayed, "wouldn't the Oracles 'a told her not ta change anythin' if it was goin' ta turn out badly?"

Angel mulled it over. His first inclination was to nix any changes to the timeline. How could any of them really guess with any degree of accuracy how even the smallest change might impact the future? For all they knew, 2001 Cordelia's presence here could have already had such an effect. Her arriving here in this time was like a stone thrown into a still pond. The ripples could already be spreading outward. 

Despite all of that, the vampire found himself wanting to trust her as she'd asked. Sharing the office with Doyle and Cordelia these past four months had been…educational, to say the least. And to an extent, they'd both managed to chip away a little at the stoic wall he'd built around himself. Over two hundred and forty years, and he realized the only true, meaningful relationship he'd formed had been with Buffy. And it had become painfully clear that their love could never be. Was it any wonder a part of him longed for the future that Cordelia alluded to? One in which he had not only partners, but friends? He tried to think rationally, reminded himself that if he could give up the love of his life for the future, he shouldn't allow friendship to influence his decisions either. His choice with the day-that-wasn't had been obvious, though, even though it was painful. If he'd remained human, Buffy would die. And so would many others. Confronted by that truth, his path was clear, though it ripped his heart out to walk it.

But what Cordelia was proposing could conceivably better the future. It was still a risk, he knew, but suddenly he wanted to go along with it. To offer a second chance at life to whoever it was Cordelia wanted to save. And maybe – just a little – to give himself something to look forward to. He nodded at Cordelia, and her grin of excited triumph almost made him smile back. 

"Okay!" she said, ecstatic. They were going to do it! She jumped up, suddenly full of energy, her headache forgotten. Angel and Doyle watched her, bemused, as she began pacing back and forth in front of them like a drill sergeant. When her mouth opened again she was firmly in charge, and she dispatched her orders like a veteran. "Angel, there's a ship at the docks called the Quintessa. You should know the captain, and he owes you, right?"

Angel nodded, surprised, and she went on. "Okay. You're going to head over there – you'll have to take the tunnels, unless you've got some SPF 10,000 – and convince him to head out this afternoon with a hold full of passengers. By the way, he'll do it for half of what he owes you. Oh, and find the First Mate and…I don't know, lock him in the brig or whatever. He's the one who goes to tell the Scourge what we're doing." Angel blinked at the rapid-fire of information and she grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the desk as she addressed Doyle. "You need to go to this address," she said, scribbling quickly on the paper, "and find the Lister demons hiding under the floor. They're gonna be pretty spooked at first, but just tell them you're the Promised One, and they'll follow you around like a bunch of groupies. Then just wait for me."

"But I'm not a promised anythin'," Doyle protested.

Cordelia shook her head. "It doesn't matter. What's important is that we get them going. Oh, and there's this kid, Rieff. Keep an eye on him, 'cause he's gonna take off. And going after him is one of the things that delayed us last time, leading to a chain of events that…didn't work out so well."

Both men noticed her hesitation. "And what will you be doing?" Angel asked.

"I'll be renting the truck we'll need to transport the Lister demons," she answered, preparing to move out. "And I'm gonna get a better deal on it for us this time, too."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

She could hear voices. But that was wrong, because she was sleeping, and she shouldn't be able to hear anything. She didn't **want** to hear anything. She wanted to just shove her head under the pillow and let sleep drag her back down again, away from this world where people she cared about were dead, and people she'd never met before yesterday called themselves her friends, and she didn't want to care about them, damn it. But the sounds of anger and worry pulled at her, rudely yanking her back from oblivion. 

Cordelia awoke to pandemonium. 

"Where is she?" Angel was saying. "Where would she have gone?"

"Nowhere," a higher, more cultured voice responded. That was Wesley. "She wouldn't have just left."

"Then they got her." The voice was fatalistic. Angry. Gunn.

Cordelia rolled over and blinked her eyes open. The three men were standing at the foot of the other bed. Well, Wesley and Angel were standing; Gunn was packing one of the duffel bags they'd brought with them from the Hyperion the night before. "What's going on?" she asked.

Angel glanced at her. "Fred's missing. She went out this morning and hasn't come back."

"I'm tellin' you, they got her," Gunn insisted. "And she knows where we are. It's only a matter of time before they come knockin'. We gotta get out of here."

"We can't just leave her with them!" Wesley said, anger coloring his voice for the first time. 

"We're not going to," Angel interjected. "Everyone else is going to leave, and I'll find Fred."

Cordelia felt very small and very not-part-of-the-group, sitting on the bed. "How?" she asked.

"The way I see it, they'll come right to me," Angel answered.

Wesley shook his head. "Angel, that's playing right into their hands."

Gunn agreed. "Look. Let's all get out of here, and I'll call up Rondell. He can get the crew together and we can go after her with some backup."

"Ah yes, because your gang has proven how highly they value life." Wesley replied hotly.

"Last time I checked it was still okay to take out the bad guys," Gunn bit back.

Angel stepped between them, holding up his hands for a truce. Tempers were running hot, fueled by self-preservation and worry for Fred, and it was going to get them nowhere. "It doesn't matter. I'm not bringing anyone else into this to get hurt." He glanced meaningfully at Cordelia.

Wesley backed off a little. "I understand. But remember that if this child is born, if it truly does bring about the end of humanity, it will affect everyone. Maybe they've taken Fred to where they're holding Darla. If we can find her, we might be able to end this whole thing."

Angel looked uncomfortable. "Wesley…remember that we realized the baby…it has a…"

"A soul, yes," Wesley confirmed. "I remember. But remember this: Not every creature with a soul fights on the side of good. And you know the prophecy."

Angel nodded, unhappy; reluctant but knowing what had to be done. He looked at Gunn. "All right. Give them the call. 


	8. Chapter 8

The Time Keeper approached the old military weapons facility and was not fooled by its deceptive, derelict façade. There was no electricity, nor were there any obvious signs of life. Dirt and grime had built up over the years of abandonment…trash and other undesirable things had been left behind by the few humans who would live in such conditions. And of those who could, not many were seen again alive. 

They'd been taken by the non-humans. The demons.

Each demon race had a reason as to why their kind occupied the realm of man. Some had fled their own dimensions. Some had been banished and had nowhere else to go. Some had been here since the dawning of life on the planet, and more demons came every day. But by and large most species preferred to keep to the shadows. In exchange for whatever it was they sought here, they generally let the humans worry about the state of the world while they moved under cover of darkness and secrecy. Creator help the human race, should the demon population of Earth ever choose as a whole to throw off its cloak of invisibility, combine their efforts and confront man. Having ruled the world until then, unaware of the true dangers lurking in the shadows, humans would stand little chance. 

And that, the Time Keeper reflected, was exactly what the Scourge hoped to do.

As the only one of his kind, the Time Keeper had no real allegiances, save to his duty. If pressed to choose between the human race and demons, he thought he'd probably go with mankind for the very simple reason that they tended to meddle with his timeline less. Yes, **his** timeline, damnit. 

There were thousands – hundreds of thousands, actually – of demon sects out there, and a fair amount of them had at one time or another tried to interfere with the original course of events for their own, personal gain. Humans, on the other hand - having been around for only a fraction of the time as the scattered demon races - had had less of an opportunity to try their hands at time travel. And had, therefore, annoyed him less.

And really, that was the crux of it: not who was good and who was evil, or who deserved to win the silent war. Such things were none of his concern. Humans could scarcely consider themselves the loftiest of species, anyway. To the Time Keeper, they had existed for only a moment in an endless sea of time. They were but a grain of sand on the beach. And what had they done with their existence so far? They had brought war upon one another. Disease, famine, murder and pollution. Carrot Top. Evil resided among humans just as surely as it ran rampant through the demon races.

Then again…there were also those who sought to bring peace, find cures and end famines. There were those who went out into the madness every night to try and protect those who could not protect themselves. So perhaps there was some hope for them after all.

He could find out, of course. He could look into the future as easily as he could look into the present or the past. What was a fixed impossibility for others was for him a fluid slipstream, easily navigated. And he would be untruthful in saying that he'd never been tempted. 

For countless cycles of the rotation of the universe…for untold – what did they call them now? Ah yes, years – he had watched worlds form, watched them be torn apart. He'd seen civilizations rise and fall. He'd witnessed wonders and atrocities beyond the scope of anything that humans could conceive. He possessed more memories alone than mankind would likely ever amass, and sometimes he wondered where it was all going. He wondered what the point was, if one existed. Was it any wonder, with as much as he had seen, that part of him wanted to skip ahead and see how it all turned out?

But to do so would be a violation of his own principles, and so he did not. Besides, his time was coming to an end, at last. It was nearly time to step aside, make way for the next Time Keeper. 

He'd been the regulator for a long time. The constant vigilance, the overwhelming responsibility had worn him down. He was not as sure of his convictions as he once was, and that was dangerous. He could feel himself losing the objectivity he needed to retain for his position. Better that he pass the responsibility to his successor soon, than to remain in control for much longer. 

But before he could, there were several…complications…that must be remedied. And that was where the Scourge came in. As a race he could find nothing redeemable about them. Their sole purpose appeared to consist only of eradicating mixed-bloods from all of the realms. A noble cause only in their own prejudiced, narrow minds.

The Time Keeper snorted. The Scourge Leader wouldn't know "noble" if it came up and field-kicked his head. The Time Keeper may have felt little one way or the other toward the scattered races, but he cared even less about the Scourge.

Unfortunately, recent events had left The Time Keeper no option but to seek out their fanatical leader. After navigating the seemingly deserted facility to reach the underground section, he found him right where he'd known he would be.

The Leader appraised the intruder silently for a moment, taking in the grand horns and iridescent scales that caught what little light there was and reflected it in little rainbows across the gray walls. Finally he waved off the four demon-shaped shadows the Time Keeper had picked up immediately after entering the building. The Time Keeper watched them go with no interest; he'd known they were following him from the beginning, and it mattered little. He returned the Leader's impassive stare.

The leader of the Scourge smiled coldly. "Time Keeper," he pronounced finally, causing a stir among his advisors. They stood on either side of the throne-like chair their ruler sat upon, watching curiously. The Leader went on. "Your kind has never before graced us, Regulator. Interesting that you should do so now, so near the end of your responsibilities."

Suddenly he leaned forward, an avid, evil gleam in his eyes. "Unless…unless you have finally chosen to help us. You **are** a pure-blood, and your control over time could aid our cause beyond compare."

The Time Keeper avoided the Leader's hungry gaze and shook his head, trying to keep his distaste from showing. "As you well know, my kind does not concern itself with petty wars and causes. I serve Time, and Time alone."

"But," he forestalled as the Scourge Leader began to speak, "I do have a situation that I wish to bring to your attention. A matter which has gotten out of hand and must be rectified. A matter that should interest you."

The Leader nodded his head slightly, silently indicating that he was listening.

The Time Keeper shoved down a slight twinge of guilt at what he was about to do. It couldn't be helped, he told himself. These Scourge were destined to do as he was about to direct them. They had the first time, before he'd been forced to interfere, and they must again.

"There is a group of half-demons fleeing you. Twenty or so Listers," he finally said.

The Leader sank back against his throne, disappointed. "Is that all? I am already aware of the half-breeds. We march for them tonight."

"Tonight will be too late," the Time Keeper responded. "By the time you get there they would be gone. They have found help, and very soon now they will board a freighter and escape you. You must get to them first."

The Scourge Leader narrowed his eyes suspiciously as his advisors whispered to each other. "What is your interest in this?" he wanted to know. "A moment ago you haughtily reminded me of your precious non-interference. How can you justify giving me this information?"

The Time Keeper adopted an appropriately grave demeanor. "The one helping them is seeking to disrupt the original course of events. My duty in this is clear." _All right…time for a little ego stroking to get what I need…_ "Today is the day that your people are to unleash their power…to fulfill their destiny through the terrible power of the Beacon."

The Leader leaned forward again, pleasure and excitement propelling him practically out of his chair. "It is true," he said, "we have long planned its development, and it is now ready." He jerked his head in a decisive nod. "Give us the information. We will fulfill our destiny and none shall stop us."

The Time Keeper inclined his head…the faintest sketch of implied respect. "I will tell you all that you need know."

The Scourge Leader had begun to turn away to address his advisors, but abruptly he turned back to the Time Keeper. He was suddenly genial. "In return for this favor, we shall find your meddler of time, as well. It will pay in pain and death for attempting to save those who are destined to be crushed by the Scourge."

"No," the Time Keeper said firmly. "All must be as it was. Leave her to me."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It was approaching noon when Cordelia unlocked the door to the office. She, Doyle and Angel had split up a little over an hour before to take on their respective tasks, but with everything going on Cordelia had forgotten to take the weapons bag with her when she left to pick up the moving truck.

The white cargo truck waited out on the street now, engine ticking, for her to come out and get ready to transport the Lister demons. But first…the weapons bag.

If everything worked out the way she'd planned it, the Lister refugees would be gone to safety long before the Scourge came swooping in for the kill. If she could just remove the Listers from the equation, there would be no need for the Scourge to bring out their giant Christmas tree ornament of death, and Doyle wouldn't have to sacrifice himself to save them.

So. The plan was to get the Lister demons as far away from L.A. as possible, so that when the Scourge arrived their prey would have already escaped. There shouldn't even be any fighting. But with Doyle's life on the line, Cordelia wasn't going to take any chances. Hence the weapons.

She glanced at her watch as she bounced down the steps and made a beeline for the inner office. Angel should be putting the squeeze on the Harbor Master about now, she thought. Doyle should also have made first contact, and would be even now in a holding pattern, waiting for her. She quickened her pace, both excited and nervous over what they were attempting to do. Excited, because if they could pull this off, who knew what kind of future they'd be creating? It made her dizzy just to think about the possibilities. The case of nerves came from worrying about what would happen if they failed. What if time really couldn't be changed? What if certain things were just _meant_ to happen?

If that were so, then she might have to watch Doyle die for the second time, and she didn't know if she could do that again.

Anxious to do everything in her power to prevent that, she rushed into Angel's office to retrieve the bag and didn't notice the Time Keeper's still form behind the doorway…until he raised his gauntlet to fire.

Cordelia wasn't quite sure whether she'd caught the movement in her peripheral vision or if she'd just suddenly sensed the presence behind her, but before she was even fully aware of the danger, instinct kicked in, and it kicked in hard.

Three years as a cheerleader had taught her the moves; nearly three more working for a vampire had honed her reflexes. Right now they both saved her as a blinding flash of heat and electricity spewed out from the muzzle of the gauntlet. Cordelia dropped, ducking under the blast into a protective roll that landed her on the floor behind the desk. She felt the rush of crackling static warmth as it arced through the spot she'd just been standing in, passing instead through empty air until it struck the elevator. The lift shook under the force of the stream; the cage rattled, clanging violently in its slot as the metal warped and twisted. 

Belatedly, Cordelia realized she should have rolled the other way, toward the weapons bag on the couch. Instead she'd instinctively sought to put a barrier between herself and the lethal gauntlet. Remembering the shattered staircase at the Hyperion, however, she knew the desk would offer no protection. And now the demon was between her and the weapons. 

Hoping to take him by surprise before he could recover enough to fire again, Cordelia jumped up from her crouch and tucked one shoulder down, rolling across the desk on her back. She landed firmly on her feet in front of the Time Keeper, who blinked in response to her charge. He brought the gauntlet up to fire again, and Cordelia moved in, using his own momentum to swing it up, safely away from her. Not expecting the bold move, the Time Keeper jerked the trigger, wasting another blast on the ceiling.

The Time Keeper faltered, cursed. He couldn't use the weapon function on his gauntlet; it would kill her. That in itself would disrupt the timeline irrevocably. He was trying his best to get things back on the proper course, but he'd just used up a lot of his energy on two useless shots, and she was still running around like a hopped-up gazelle, fleet and fast and completely unpredictable. Even now she was sprinting over to the couch, away from him. Deciding that the only advantages he had left (now that surprise was no longer on his side) were size and strength, he quickly followed her and knocked her onto the couch. To his surprise she didn't fight back, merely grappled with the duffel bag she'd fallen upon.

When he turned her over, he found out why.

With a yell Cordelia rammed the knife into the Time Keeper. She'd been lucky so far, but she knew if it came down to just the demon and herself, she'd lose if she didn't do something to seriously improve her chances. And so she went for his throat. 

At the last moment, however, the demon saw her intent and threw his naked arm up to protect himself, and the blade sank deep into the scaly flesh above the gauntlet. He howled from the pain and yanked Cordelia from the couch, tossing her none-too-gently back toward the desk and away from the bag that he now realized was packed with weapons. Gritting his teeth and clamping one clawed hand over the hilt of the knife embedded in his arm, he pulled. 

It came out with minimal additional pain – thank the Creator the damn thing wasn't serrated! – and he glared at the girl who was now watching him warily, keeping the desk between them. All right…surprise hadn't worked. Force hadn't worked. He had no desire to find out what else she was capable of. Maybe now would be a good time to try conversation.

The Time Keeper held out his hands in a non-threatening gesture. He'd seen humans do it plenty of times…it was to show that you bore no weapons and came in peace. It must have looked a little less reassuring when he did it, though, because the girl fearfully braced herself as if for another attack. It might have also had something to do with the fact that he still held the bloody knife.

Sighing, tossing the knife aside, he dropped his arms. "I don't mean you any harm," he said.

Cordelia had been edging as imperceptibly as she could toward the center drawer in Angel's desk, and now she started visibly at the demon's sudden use of English. She'd half thought until now that he couldn't even speak. Not in any language she'd understand, anyway. But now he'd startled her by taking the battle to another level, and she tried to shake it off, think of a way out of this. "Oh yeah? Tell that to the elevator." 

The Time Keeper glanced at the ruined lift. "It wouldn't have done that to you," he said, and winced at how unbelievable the words would sound to her.

"Oh," Cordelia replied, voice dripping with sarcasm, "right. And I'm going to believe you because you've been so **peaceful** up until now. You're the Mother Theresa of all demons. Uh-huh. Except for the part where you demolished the Hyperion, sent me into the past, beat the crap out of Doyle, and killed our elevator."

She seemed to gain new confidence from reciting his litany of crimes and stared at him defiantly as if daring him to try and defend himself.

Not sure why he suddenly felt a little cowed by this human, he gave it his best shot. "None of this was meant to happen. You're not supposed to be here."

"Hello! You **put** me here!" Cordelia exclaimed.

The Time Keeper sighed. "Only because you interfered with my original target."

"Oh yes," Cordelia said. "And the fact that you were aiming at Angel makes it all better. If you think you can score brownie points with me because you were trying to kill my friend instead of me, you are beyond deluded."

"All of this is beside the point," the Time Keeper said, exasperated and annoyed with himself at this whole situation. "You cannot do what you are contemplating. The timeline must not be tampered with."

Cordelia's tone was icy. "So sayeth the guy doing the tampering."

"What was meant to be -" 

"Shouldn't be changed. Yeah, so everyone keeps telling me," Cordelia snapped. "You know, maybe you've forgotten, but I'm pretty sure in the original timeline Angel didn't Quantum Leap back into an earlier version of himself. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't even be here right now. What's **your** excuse? I thought you guys were supposed to be all big on the guarding time, not messing with it."

The Time Keeper averted his gaze. He wanted to bridle with indignation at her accusation, but she was right. It threw him, because **he** was accustomed to being right. He'd always occupied the moral high ground, secure in the knowledge that his duty was important to the universe. But now he was the guilty one. Now he was the one in the wrong, and his own sense of pride and honor forced him to admit it. "There are…extenuating circumstances," he gritted out. 

"Whatever it is that's got you selling out your own values and trying to kill an innocent guy," Cordelia said frankly, "is not worth it." She watched him silently for a moment, then took a stab. "Is it money? It was Wolfram and Hart, wasn't it? They paid you to kill Angel, is that it?"

This time the Time Keeper couldn't contain his outrage. "I would never betray my duty for such a low purpose!" he exploded. "Your money means nothing to me…only the most dire of circumstances could have pressured me into going against all I hold sacred."

Cordelia nodded, her suspicions confirmed, and grudging sympathy crept into her expression. "I thought not," she said. "What do they have on you?"

At his confused look, Cordelia explained. "Everywhere I could find information on you it said that you were this big Time Guru Guy. That you put your responsibility above everything else. So eventually it made me wonder…what could be more important than the most important thing there was to you? And all I can think of is that they've got this thing, whatever it is, because they know it's important to you. And now they're making you jump through hoops to get it back."

She shot him an _Am I right, or am I right?_ look, and his expression confirmed her guess. "They did the same thing to us," she said by way of explanation. "The people…well, if you can call them people…at Wolfram and Hart are no stranger to pressuring people into doing what they want. They were able to get to Angel a couple weeks ago. I mean in two years they, well…you know. Anyway. They tortured me with these really painful visions to make him do what they wanted. So I know all about what they're capable of. What I don't know is what they have on you that's worth all of this."

The Time Keeper found her empathy…odd. Odd, but not entirely unwelcome. In a way, he was glad to know he was not the only victim of the evil trappings of the law firm. Though, obviously, the girl and the vampire had to have found some way out. She was still alive, after all. 

Wishing he could find his own nice, neat little solution, he sighed and finally admitted to his problem. "There is only ever one of my kind," he started slowly. "It is the way of my species. Since the beginning of time there has been one Regulator, and it is our sole duty to keep time in its natural state. To defend it from those who would seek to change the past, and to correct such changes if they have been made. It is a heavier responsibility than you realize, in many ways. I cannot easily put into words how long each of us shoulders the duty…but it is a very, very long time. At the end of it we…replace ourselves with another."

Cordelia was confused. "Replace? But where does the replacement come from?"

The Time Keeper searched his vast memory for the right words, but no species he'd ever been in contact with had a basis of comparison against how his race survived. "We…are able to create our successor from…ourselves," he tried.

Cordelia's brow furrowed and she looked at him uncomprehendingly before it finally hit her. "You mean like a kid? Wolfram and Hart has your kid? No wonder you're willing to renege on your scruples!"

The Time Keeper winced at the reminder of what he'd done. "Not a child in the sense that you think of it," he said. "In fact, he is not a child at all. When we replace ourselves this way we endow upon the successor our own flesh. Our own memories. Even our own minds. In this way, every Time Keeper will posses the knowledge and memories that each previous Time Keeper did. In a way, it is like there is only one of us, ever, for all time."

Cordelia reasoned it out. "And somehow Wolfram and Hart got him. This 'other you' guy. Your kid, whatever. Why doesn't he just like…time warp himself out, or something?"

The Time Keeper checked his wound…the bleeding had slowed considerably. Still, he was feeling the cumulative effects from all of the fighting he'd done over the past few days, and he ached. His age was catching up with him in many ways; it was more vital than ever that he complete his mission and recover his successor. He grew weary. 

"Ordinarily we do not permit **any** changes to the timeline, even for our own benefit. A life-threatening situation, however, would allow it, as our presence is necessary to maintain order. Unfortunately, my successor is unable to control time without this." He held up the arm that bore the gauntlet. "When there is only one of us the gauntlet will always find its way back to its rightful place, but as long as I am alive it will not go to him."

"So he's stuck there," Cordelia summarized. "And to get him out, you had to agree to kill Angel. When that didn't work, you were forced to try and switch him with a version of himself that could be more easily killed. The **human** Angel that you knew about, because you're the time guy, and you know everything that's ever happened." She nodded to herself as it all came together, but there were still questions. "But wouldn't that have left the Angel from my time back here, able to do the same thing I'm trying? I mean…he'd still be alive and a pain to Wolfram and Hart, just not right then."

Again the Time Keeper tried to find the right words to make her understand. "Time is not as most mortals perceive it. Humans have all these ideas about it…the string theory, alternate universes, paradoxes and the like. Really it's both simpler and more complex than you could imagine. Yes, the older version of himself would then be occupying this time…but if the younger version of himself should happen to die, so would he."

Cordelia tilted her head, feeling the first warning signs of a headache at this suddenly hypothetical conversation. "Because the younger version of himself would be dead, so there couldn't **be** an older version of himself?" she surmised.

"Yes and no," the demon said. "Here is where it is simpler. There is but one entity known as Angel. One you. It would be impossible to go around killing _versions _of people, mere moments in that person's life, without affecting the other moments as well."

"So…if the Angel of the past died, the Angel of the future would be gone, too? But then what happens to us? All of us who have memories of two more years' worth of Angel-memories? We don't just…forget, do we?"

"Of course not. You'd be adjusted. You, and the entire timeline. To fit the new course of events."

__

Oh yeah, that's definitely a headache coming on… But through the dull ache in her head she thought there was something very important in what he'd just told her, though she hadn't been able to reason it out, yet. Then suddenly another thought struck her, out of the blue. "Why didn't you just come to us?"

Now it was the demon's turn to be confused. "What?"

"It's what we do, hello? We help people with demon-related problems. And okay, sure, you're the actual demon in this case. But considering the issues we have with Wolfram and Hart, we'd have probably even given you a discount." 

The Time Keeper simply stared at her, dumbfounded. It had never occurred to him to ask for help. Why should anyone help him? It was his affair, his problem. Here he was meddling unjustly in her life, trying to kill one of her friends, trying to prevent another from gaining the chance to live, and yet it seemed only natural to her to help him. He was astonished by the offer, and a niggling sense of shame wormed its way into him. Because her selflessness meant nothing. It **had** to mean nothing. No matter what had already happened, he still had his duty. 

It is too late for that," he said gravely.

But Cordelia clearly liked the idea. "No it isn't," she shook her head, enthused. "Look, I can finish here today, then you can zap me back to my time, and we can go after Wolfram and Hart. Once I explain to the rest of the gang I know they'd help…"

As much to quash his own growing sense of guilt at what had to be done as to silence her, he interrupted, "It's too late. It is out of your hands."

Cordelia went still, warned by his tone. "What did you do?" she whispered.

"What I had to," he answered, feeling the tentative, fragile trust between them quickly slipping away.

"What did you **do**?" she demanded.

"I told the Scourge what they needed to know. Even now they are on their way to stop you."

"No!" Cordelia cried, seized by a deep, gut-wrenching pain. Loss, she realized. So this was what it felt like to lose him again. To lose to fate. 

The Time Keeper tried to remain impassive as he watched her nearly double over, gasping, one hand clenched in a knuckle-whitening fist on the desk in front off her. He tried and failed. It was impossible to be unmoved by her obvious anguish, and guilt washed through him like a wave of salt over a wound, surprising him. It galvanized him to step forward…he didn't know how he could help her, his hands were tied, but he felt the urge to do **something**. And so he stepped toward her…

And right into the path of the letter opener she hurled at him. Too late he realized why one of her hands had been beyond his view: cornered, she'd surreptitiously snatched the impromptu weapon from a drawer in the desk between them. There was no time to avoid it – he'd been taken entirely by surprise – and it hit him in the chest. Her skill (or blind luck) turned the simple tool into a lethal missile, a blade that pierced the hide over his heart. He felt the sudden sliver of coolness like an icicle inside him, an obviously foreign object within the heat of his body. Fear and sudden desperation had lent force to her throw, and the letter opener went deep into his flesh. 

The lancing pain rocked him back. Instinctively he grasped the hilt of the opener and tore it from him, garbled pain erupting from his throat in tandem with the sudden flow of blood from the wound. It ran down his body in a red flood, pooling into a growing puddle on the floor. This was bad. The rapid loss of blood was already affecting him, he could feel himself growing faint. A Time Keeper's body may live for thousands of years, but it is still a body that may be seriously injured. This wound compromised his efficiency, and would take time to heal. He had to finish this **now**.

Gritting his teeth in concentration, knowing this was his last, immediate chance, the Time Keeper raised the gauntlet for the third time. He felt the familiar drain within him as the device on his arm drew upon his own life energy, preparing to displace the hapless girl before him. 

The only problem was, this girl was proving to be a lot less hapless than he'd have liked, and she clearly had other plans. She reached down again, and the Time Keeper flinched in anticipation of another sharp projectile even as he leveled the gauntlet to fire. He was hardly prepared, however, for the desk drawer that came hurdling at his head. Papers and miscellaneous office supplies rained out of it in a flurry, and then the corner of the drawer struck him in the face. Over the sound of the thud of the impact he felt bone crack beneath the inertia of the heavy wood, and he couldn't keep from staggering. Adrenaline kicked in, numbing the new pain in his face, and beyond it he felt the gauntlet discharge. He blinked furiously, trying to clear the red haze before his eyes. Trying to see if he'd hit her, or if she had somehow evaded him again. 

Finally, his eyes cleared, and he could look. She was gone. There was nothing between him and the board-covered windows…nothing save a small pile of ash and charred wood. Among the debris were several blackened knobs – to the drawers, he realized. And a smooth length of wood that he recognized as one of the legs of the desk that had stood before him a moment ago intact. And that's when he realized he'd hit the desk. He'd displaced the desk, not the human, and this decimated rubble on the floor was all that was left of the desk three years in the future. Which meant that the girl…

The mace struck the right side of his head and he stumbled drunkenly under the blow. Careening to the left, he came up fast against the open doorway leading to the outer office; the wood splintered under the force of his impact. He looked up in time to see the girl coming at him again, trying to press the small advantage she had. He didn't hold it against her. She was right. He was the one who'd put her here. It was to be expected that she'd fight for herself and the one she was trying to save. But this had gone too far. It was time to end it. 

Despite the combined aches and bruises and wounds he'd acquired over the past couple days, he launched himself away from the doorjamb with a speed and force that startled Cordelia. A moment later she was lifted off her feet, pressed back against the opposite wall, a horrible pressure on her throat. She wheezed, trying to inhale some much-needed air, and only then did she realize the demon had knocked it out of her. Finally her airway cleared when he let up a little, and she sucked in tiny, shallow breaths of oxygen. She kicked helplessly in his grasp, aiming for areas that she knew would incapacitate a human, but there was no effect that she could see from his face. Her right hand still held the handle of the mace, but she didn't have enough room or maneuverability to swing. She tried anyway, wrenching her hand around to try and gain freedom, succeeding only in dropping the weapon. Her fingers played against a lip of metal, suddenly, cool and alien to the touch. The gauntlet. Curling her fingers around it for leverage, Cordelia brought her knees up against the body holding her to the wall. Then, trying to ignore the ick factor, she made a fist with her other hand and plunged it into the wound in the demon's chest. 

The Time Keeper screamed; there was no other word for it. It was an awful, pained howl that made her cringe. But it worked, because suddenly she could breathe deeply again, and the weight was off her. She dropped to the floor, free, feeling sick at the blood staining her hand. It was red and slick, and far too similar to a human's for her liking. And damnit, she'd **had** to. She could barely breathe like that. And she couldn't let him send her back yet. But as she wiped her hand on one denim-covered thigh, guilt rose in her throat like acid, like vomit. She felt sick. In a way, the Time Keeper was in the same kind of situation she was: someone had come along and messed with him, and now all he could do was defend himself and his kid, or whatever, the best he could. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, or anyone else. Just the way she hadn't wanted to hurt him. But she knew that if she couldn't defend herself well enough to get away, he'd send her back to her own time before she could finish. And she couldn't let that happen. And so she grimaced and wiped the blood from one hand, while the other…

The other clutched the gauntlet.

Eyes wild, Cordelia looked up sharply at the Time Keeper. The demon was again leaning against the cracked wood of the open doorway, panting. She didn't know much about his physiology, but she'd be willing to bet that gray wasn't his best color. In fact, the iridescence had nearly faded from his scales entirely. He clasped one clawed hand to his chest, trying to staunch the fresh flow of blood. Bottom line? He was not in good shape, and guilt gripped her again briefly before she angrily shook it off and stood, dragging the gauntlet up with her. Her own labored breathing sounded harsh in her ears as her mind raced. She fumbled with the strange device, fitting it over her hand. Had to do this…quick, before he recovered again. What the hell was he, a horned cockroach? Would nothing short of a thermonuclear explosion keep this guy down? 

At the bottom of the inside of the gauntlet, near where the mechanics must be, Cordelia felt a handle…a sort of horizontal bar. It was too large to get her hand around completely, but it was enough to hold on to. On the underside of it, where her fingers rested, there were two inlaid buttons. On one side there were things that felt like dials, or switches, but before she could explore further the Time Keeper was pushing himself away from the doorway, looking up at her…and jerking to a halt. Cordelia hastily brought the gauntlet up to level on him, prepared to press buttons like crazy should he take another step, but he had frozen in place, his eyes wide and fixed on the device that swallowed her right arm nearly to the shoulder. 

He's afraid of it, she realized. _Letter openers and drawers and maces might injure him, but this thing can **kill** him, and he knows it. _It was just the edge she needed. "All right listen, Timex," she said, adopting a reasonable tone, "I don't want to have to use this. You seem a decent enough demon, when you're not trying to kill my friends. But I'll do what I have to, and so help me if you come one step closer I'll find out exactly what this thing **does** do to flesh and bone."

Either she was pretty convincing, or he had even more reason to fear the gauntlet than she'd thought, because he very carefully responded to her promise by backing up a step, raising his arms again in that queer "non-threatening" posture that really made him look more like a menacing alien from a bad B movie, coiling to attack its helpless prey.

__

Well, I'm certainly not helpless now, Cordelia thought, tightening her grip.

The Time Keeper watched her warily, mindful of how easily the human could kill him right now, if she so chose. He wondered for a moment why she hadn't fired already – he was, after all, the biggest obstacle between her and the path she was determined to take – and then remembered her offer of help. If circumstances were different, if there weren't so much at stake for her right now, he felt sure that she'd be trying to help him. She certainly didn't seem to **want** to kill him. Maybe she wouldn't. Maybe if he stepped toward her, tried to take the gauntlet away from her, she wouldn't be able to find it within herself to fire upon him. He examined her, took in the hardness of her expression. Saw the grim resolve in her steely gaze.

Oh yeah. She'd fire. 

There was no choice, then. He couldn't risk being killed, not yet. Not until he'd fixed this. He'd have to let her go for now and try to regain the gauntlet later. He lowered his arms – but slowly – and backed away. The human watched him shrewdly, assuring that he couldn't mount a last minute charge when she wasn't paying attention. As he stepped back she matched him, keeping a few yards between them as she advanced to the doorway between the offices. 

Still holding the gauntlet level, Cordelia watched the Time Keeper turn reluctantly and go through the front door. On the other side, he'd undoubtedly have to descend into Angel's apartment to leave the building via the tunnels, since even in L.A. a huge, scaled demon with horns would probably be noticed by _someone_ in broad daylight. 

Nervous for a moment that he'd come back, even **more** nervous that he'd left so easily because there was some unknown other way he could get to her later, Cordelia didn't dare to lower the gauntlet immediately. When long minutes passed with no movement from beyond the front door, she relaxed minutely. She had no choice. As much as the bruises on her throat protested otherwise, the Time Keeper was not their biggest worry right now. The larger threat came in the form of the Scourge, who were even now on their way to stop her. To kill Doyle. She had to go.

Moving swiftly, Cordelia ran back to the weapons bag on the couch and stuffed the gauntlet into it, keeping the crossbow out for herself. She slung the bag over one shoulder, held the crossbow in one hand, ready to fire, and her keys in the other. Armed as such, she cautiously peered outside before venturing across to the truck. Seeing nothing, she ran.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

As the sun reached its zenith and began to descend once again toward the far horizon, it cast thin rays of yellow gold into the safe-house through the cracks in the walls and around the edges of windows that had been painted black. So bright at its source, the light that shone in was quickly diffused by the murky room. Miniscule particles that danced in the brief luminosity quickly succumbed to the gloom of the interior, invisible in the dark. In the furthest shadows, far away from the possibility of curious glances from the outside world, the Lister demons waited in a holding pattern. They had fled here to avoid the Scourge, but all had known that it would only be a matter of time before the fanatical race found them, and they would have to leave again. At least this time there had been warning. If all went as the half-Brachen said, they'd be long gone before the Scourge arrived. There was even a boat waiting to take them to Briole, the sanctuary island that many others of their kind had found and settled. It all seemed too good to be true, especially since the bringer of this news – Doyle, he'd called himself – seemed an unlikely Promised One.

The elder chided himself at the judgment, looking around at the dilapidated structure of the old hotel his people hid within. His glance took in the mattresses on the floor, the clothesline running the length of the room, and he reminded himself that they themselves were more than they appeared to be. True, they'd imagined some sort of mythical superhero-type to be the one destined to save them from the Scourge…but if he existed, he'd never shown up. Doyle had. So perhaps the myths and legends were untrue…or perhaps Doyle was more than met the eye. Perhaps he **was** the Promised One and just didn't believe it. He'd stumbled over the word as if embarrassed.

Whatever his story was, however, the elder believed Doyle knew the danger they were in. There'd been a haunted look in his eyes when he spoke of the Scourge. And he **had** somehow known that Rieff would bolt and caught the boy before he could even leave the building. Surely that meant something. And now the troubled man who'd sworn in his own way to deliver them from evil leaned uneasily against the wall by the door. He was waiting, he'd said, for their transportation to the ship. He looked as nervous as the Listers felt, and the elder sympathized. For better or worse, they had put their faith in this man, this fellow half-demon, and now all they could do was hope.

From the doorway, Doyle felt the force of their faith and fought the urge to run from it. His own personal track record when it came to saving fellow half-demons from the purebreds intent on destroying them was far from stellar. In fact, when a group of his own kind approached him for help, he'd denied them. He'd turned them away out of fear and a sheer panic at his lack of understanding of what he'd just discovered he was. And when he found them dead later, after the first vision, something inside him had died. He felt later as if he'd been at a juncture, there. As if there'd been two separate paths he could have gone down, each one leading to a final version of himself. The path he'd chosen had been the one of fear, and it had led to this. For longer than he'd like to remember he'd floundered, losing himself in drink and gambling, trying to forget about that other path. Trying on some level to deny the truth of his own being and what he could have been if he'd had the guts. Trying to lose himself in depravity, but never entirely succeeding. 

Because there were these visions. The Powers That Be had at some point decided that he either needed very much to be punished, or they actually thought he could still be redeemed. Or maybe it was a combination of both. In any case, the occasional rap on the brain was no more than he felt he deserved, but it had provided the perfect excuse to immerse himself in running away from what was left of his life. The path eventually became overgrown and slick, and as he slipped down it the temptations of the world clutched at him like weeds lining the way…dragging him down and entangling him until he'd nearly lost himself. 

And then came Angel and Cordelia. A bona fide hero and a girl he'd love to be worthy of. Since they'd come into the picture, Doyle had surprised himself by putting some of his life back together. Laying off (most of) the gambling, and sobering up (mostly…hey, a guy's entitled to a couple drinks down at the pub every once in awhile, right?). More, he'd even begun to feel again as if he might have a real place in the world. He'd gotten to **want** to be more than he was. Now he was facing the same choice all over again. And while the Listers' faith in him was terrifying, while he was desperately afraid of betraying the confidence of his friends, this time he wanted to choose the right path. 

Suddenly he heard a sound from the basement, and the bang jolted him out of his musings. Heavy footsteps ran up the stairs toward the basement door, causing the three Lister demons who'd been talking quietly there to scatter. Doyle braced himself for an attack, prepared to stand his ground…for all the good it would do anyone. If the Scourge was on the other side of that door, everyone in this room was already dead.

The door swung open, and when a tall figure in black emerged Doyle actually **saw** one of the Scourge. A moment later, when reality kicked in, he slumped back against the wall, one hand dramatically clutching at his heart. "Angel," he panted, nearly giddy from the unnecessary rush of adrenaline that continued to course through his veins, "you tryin' ta kill me?" 

Angel glanced around the dim room. "Where's Cordelia?"

"Not here yet," Doyle said. "The ship ready?"

Angel nodded. "They're preparing to cast off now. Big Randy wasn't happy about leaving so early, but I convinced him to get over it."

Doyle glanced at Angel. The vampire's expression was matter-of-fact, but there was a wicked gleam in his eye that told Doyle how Big Randy had been 'convinced'.

A sudden thump at the door leading to the hallway caused Doyle's heart to leap back into his throat. All but a few of the Lister demons scurried into the shadows, leaving Angel and Doyle to face the new threat. There was another bang at the door, then a pause. Out in the hallway, there came an audible, exasperated sigh, and then a crash. Finally, the door opened to reveal a harassed-looking Cordelia standing on the other side, arms laden with a blanket and a crossbow. "Would it kill one of you to open the door?" She gestured to the bag of weapons she'd had to drop on the floor to free a hand for the door. 

Doyle rushed forward as Angel turned behind him to reassure the Listers. He took the blanket from Cordelia. "What's this fer?" 

Cordelia shifted the crossbow, picking up the weapons bag with her other hand, keeping it close. "For Angel. I don't want us to have to split up while he takes the tunnels back to the docks. We need to stay together."

There was an urgency in her voice, a hunted look in the way she stood that caught his attention. He scrutinized her, finally seeing the mottled bruising on her neck. Curiosity gave way to alarmed concern. "What happened? Are ya all right?" 

Cordelia brushed the question aside with an angry nod. "I had to stop back at the office; the Time Keeper was there. We had a little disagreement."

Doyle turned her head gently with a light touch under her chin, inspecting the bruises as Angel came up to join them. "What happened?" the vampire asked.

Cordelia jerked her head away from Doyle's careful touch, impatient rather than annoyed as the Irishman repeated what she'd said about the Time Keeper. "An' he roughed her up, too," he added, managing to look indignant while still being concerned for her. 

"Look, we don't have time for that,:" Cordelia said, stepping closer so the Listers wouldn't overhear them. "We've got bigger problems right now."

"What's happened?" Angel asked.

Cordelia kept her voice low. "The Time Keeper went to the Scourge. He told them what we're doing. We've got to go…now."


	9. Chapter 9

The voices had gone away again, leaving her alone in the dark room. She wasn't sure how long ago that had been, or how much time she'd spent in the pitch black. Time seemed not to move here. 

Fred waved a hand in front of her face, sensing the movement but unable to see her wriggling fingers. No trace of light penetrated the gloom to guide her. She had never known darkness this complete, not even in her cave in Pylea. There, though she'd always been alone (safer…had to hide from the monsters), there had always been moonlight…shining illumination that played off the smooth, worn edges of stone and let her see the way. Here, there was nothing.

Fred brought her fingers close, trying to see them. It startled her when they touched her face, and she'd seen nothing. Nothing at all. Her fingers moved and she felt wetness on her cheeks. Tears? Had she been crying?

__

Yes, yes, that was right. She had cried when they took her. No…she had cried **out** when they took her. She'd known she shouldn't go outside because there were monsters that wanted to hurt them (get back here, cow!) but she remembered how much she had missed the sun while she was lying in the cold in the dark, surrounded by her work…the impossible figures that danced in her head so hard (so loud that) she had to write, to write and get it all out because maybe if she could get it all out she could look at it all at once and it would tell her (the way home) how to get out, and then she could go back to her world, the world with no monsters where she could go out in the day time and not be afraid of (Help! Angel! Wesley, Cordelia I didn't see them they grabbed me and put me, OH, they put me back in the dark and I can't see the) monsters, the monsters talking outside the door that weren't really monsters, they're people (human, humans who are so evil and) who want something awful (Darla, the baby, the baby, oh God, what **is** it they want) to happen and they put her back in the dark and there was no light and it did things to her it made her tremble and fear and forget (the prophecy and) things she tried to remember that were coming (into this world) out of the dark crawling where she couldn't see them crawling-slipping, gnashing teeth biting, eat the world eat us all, take us into the void and out in the light where it was not dark the voices (monsters) came back and "Anything out of this one?" The monster…no, the **man** said, the man said, the one with the gun who had told her ("Make one sound and I'll kill you. And your friends will come anyway because they won't know it's too late.") what to do and the OTHER, the other ("Not unless you count talking to herself. The broad is totally deranged, if you ask me.") said something and she couldn't hear because someone was whispering to her there in the dark and she tried to listen to the monsters ("No one's asking you. What about the other one?") had another one? Another girl another monster another ("The demon? It's not going anywhere.") prisoner? The monster ("Good. Keep it that way. Anything goes wrong tonight and Morgan will have you skinned alive.") went away and the voices were gone again and she had to understand she had to (focus and) get out of here but she couldn't understand it was all in her head and she couldn't get it out if she could just get it out, she could maybe find a way out of the dark out, out of the cave of the dark and back (home) into the light.

Fred rose slowly, her hands tentatively reaching out in front of her, feeling for obstacles. The sandals on her feet made scuffing noises as she shuffled along the floor until she came to the wall. She reached it, ran her hands along it, felt it cool beneath her fingers. Slick and smooth. Unsteady, blind, Fred fumbled in her pocket with her other hand. Found the black magic marker she'd stuck there earlier, as everyone hurriedly packed to flee the Hyperion. She hadn't known at the time why she took it; it had simply been an instinctive action…a small, harmless regression that made her feel better. Now, she stretched up as high as she could reach and started writing words in the dark.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

As daylight waned, shadows snuck slowly out from the tall buildings that had sheltered them from the sun. Like slicks of oil, the shadows spread in ever widening pools, stealthily claiming the city. Cordelia watched from between the slats of the warehouse window as one shade tentatively spilled out from beneath the awning of a hardware store, then began creeping toward her across the street. The store itself was closed, as were most of the businesses that still kept shop in this district. There were more abandoned buildings than occupied ones, and all were steadily falling prey to any and all varieties of human and non-human lowlifes. 

A lazy breeze swept trash along the empty street, and Cordelia felt its fetid breath on her cheeks. The very air stank of decline. There was a bad vibe out there, out in the city. Something evil was there waiting for night to come. And as darkness approached, Cordelia could feel the something gathering just beyond her sight, waiting for some indefinable moment. For the cover from which to strike at them. She shivered; she suddenly had a bad feeling that none of the plans that were being formulated behind her now were going to make any difference.

Cordelia had wanted to help…had needed to **do** something. But her displacement hindered any assistance she might have given. Information that may have helped the process two years ago was useless now, and there were new situations of which she had no knowledge. As a result, Cordelia had been gently but firmly shunted aside when the team met up with Gunn's "crew".

From the window, Cordelia snorted. The assorted group of thugs that had met them here in response to Gunn's call was a motley crew, at best. Each bore some sort of wicked-looking, home-fashioned weapon, and they all sported hard eyes and rough edges. Grouped together, they looked like they'd collectively walked out of a scene from every stereotypical "hood" movie that had ever been released.

She almost felt a twinge of guilt at her eagerness to label them as dangerous hoodlums, but something about the way Angel and Wesley interacted with them caused her to wonder if her hasty judgment was really that far from the truth. Angel watched them carefully. He'd adopted a deceptively relaxed posture, but his eyes followed each movement of the newcomers. Without actually withdrawing from the conversation entirely, he'd faded back into the shadows, letting Gunn do most of the talking. At Angel's side, arms crossed, Wesley hadn't spoken at all. From where Cordelia stood she could see only the vague outline of his body and the occasional quick gleam of light reflecting off his glasses as he turned his head to follow the movement of one or more of the people he was so clearly suspicious of. Even Gunn seemed edgy around them, and they were supposedly his friends.

Apprehension gripped Cordelia even more tightly as she realized that whatever they were up against must be big and bad enough to be considered such a dangerous enemy. Fearsome enough that it caused them all to call a truce in the war of bad blood between them. As she watched these strangers - all of them - try to come up with a way to infiltrate Wolfram and Hart, the apprehension chilled and slithered down to rest in a cold, hard ball of fear in her stomach.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

As the freighter from slip thirteen ponderously pulled away from the dock and headed out into the harbor, a living creature twisted and writhed in Cordelia's gut. She could feel it munching on some organ or another, expanding inside her as it grew like some kind of ill-tempered, parasitic fetus. She imagined the little creature - Impatience Monster, she'd decided to call it - screeching in frustration and petulantly worrying its sharp, serrated teeth on her spine. It had taken little nips at her here and there as they loaded the Lister Demons into the back of the moving truck, but when they'd arrived at the dock only to find another freighter loading up merely a stone's throw away from the Quintessa, the Impatience Monster had gone nuts. 

The surface of the other freighter swarmed with deckhands and dock workers, scurrying to and fro, securing lines and battening down the hatches, or whatever it was that deck hands did. The Quintessa - having been "convinced" to get a head start - must have finished early on because it sat quiet, ready to go. The other ship, though, apparently couldn't leave until every crate and sack stuffed full of goods in L.A. had been brought aboard. There would have been no way to sneak the Listers onto the Quintessa without them being spotted by the humans mere yards away, and so they'd had to wait for the other vessel to leave. 

Now, as the freighter finally drew distant, adrenaline gave the Impatience Monster a good, swift kick in its jagged little teeth.

On the bench seat next to Cordelia, behind the wheel, Doyle also felt frustration gnawing away at him. Impatience and...something else. Ever since the shared vision that morning there had been a bad feeling in his gut that told him something was wrong. He intensely didn't want to think about what it might all mean, but he'd had nothing else to do while they sat here waiting. Now, watching the other freighter pull out of the harbor, Doyle felt relief and foreboding at war with one another inside him. There was movement on the other side of Cordelia as Angel pulled the gray blanket more tightly over his head, making certain that all patches of exposed skin were covered. "All right, let's go," he said, and threw open his door. He jumped down, and it was jarring to Doyle to see his friend standing outside the truck, separated only by a thin layer of cloth from the fatal daylight. It was a very vulnerable position for the vampire, and abruptly all Doyle could think about was how vulnerable they all were, really, if any part of this plan didn't go off the way it was supposed to. Troubled, trying to shake off the sudden thoughts of death on his mind, Doyle opened his own door and slid out, sensing Cordelia right behind him. They met Angel at the back of the truck.

Doyle lifted the catch on the sliding door and pushed, feeling it give way beneath his hands and rattle up into the tracks with a loud noise. From the darkness within the cargo area, the Listers blinked at the sudden brightness, peering out hesitantly until Doyle offered a hand to the first. He helped the girl down as Angel laid out the plan, speaking to the Elder when he jumped out of his own accord. "I'll go first and make sure everything's ready. You follow me single file. Cordelia and Doyle, bring up the rear. And remember, keep your eyes open."

As Angel turned and headed briskly for the Quintessa, the Elder spaced his people so that each followed a few yards behind the one before. When the last had gone, the elder fell in line. Cordelia kept watch as Doyle secured the latch on the truck's back door, her knuckles white on the crossbow that she held with both hands. Her eyes darted everywhere, searching for the attack she knew was coming. The only question was, would it come before they were ready? At her feet was the weapons bag she'd kept so close the whole ride over. 

Doyle was all for that…you could never have too many weapons against the Scourge, in his opinion. Fatalistically, though, he doubted their small arsenal would do much to protect them.

Still plagued by the disquieting sense of doom, Doyle was anxious to get this over with. He grabbed the bag at Cordelia's feet and started across the dock. Caught off guard, Cordelia quickly scurried after him, shifting the crossbow to her left hand and plucking at the strap on his shoulder as he carried the bag toward the ramp. "I can get that," she said anxiously.

Doyle shifted the bag a little, surprised at how heavy it was but determined not to stumble in front of Cordelia. "It's all right, I've got it already. Let's go."

"No, really…I can handle it," she protested, keeping in step with him as he started up the ramp to the deck. "Seriously. Doyle. Hello? Little deaf Irish man. I **like** having the bag. It…I don't know, empowers me, or something. I really think you should…"

She trailed off, and Doyle stopped as she realized she had fallen behind. He turned. Cordelia had come to an abrupt halt once they'd reached the deck, and now she looked around with a peculiar half-smile. "What?" he asked. "What is it?"

Cordelia's expression was difficult to classify. Odd. Fond, but sad. "This is where you asked me out."

If there was one single thing that might've been able to distract Doyle from the thought of all the horrible things the Scourge could do to them, this was surely it. Arrested, all plans forgotten, he walked back to her. "Yeah?"

Cordelia looked around, remembering. Reliving the worry and happiness and utter horror and loss of that night. She should have known that coming to this ship again would bring the past to life for her. "We were waiting for you. Everything was ready to go, but we were all nervous because the kid ran off, and you went after him and hadn't come back yet."

Doyle watched her go back, watched her remember events that hadn't happened yet. He knew he should feel unsettled, but he was too busy marveling at the knowledge that at some point in his life he would actually have the nerve to reveal his feelings for Cordelia. Entranced, he stepped closer. "An' what did you say?"

Cordelia looked a little sheepish. "Well, actually, it was sort of my idea for you to ask me."

"Aha," Doyle grinned, somehow not surprised. He was still curious, though. "An' was this before or after ya found out I was half demon?"

"After. I found out right before you got back," she said. Then she shot him a stern glare. "From the **Listers**," she emphasized.

Despite the pointed reminder about the secret he'd kept from her, the grin didn't leave Doyle's face. After. She'd wanted him to ask her out **after** learning he wasn't entirely human. **His** Cordelia. The 1999, even more tactless and materially attached Cordelia. The same one he'd thought he didn't have a chance with. Wonders never ceased. "Oh yeah," he replied, "because you've been such a fountain of sharin' since ya got here."

Even though the jab was light, limited to the good-natured banter they often engaged in, it drained the teasing expression from Cordelia's face. It was replaced by sadness, as if the reminder of why she was here depressed her. It catapulted her back into the here and now, and all of her worries and fears came rushing back. Serious again, Cordelia shook off a past that she hoped to undo and held out her free hand. "The bag, Doyle."

On the heels of his seemingly innocent jibe about not sharing information, her repeated demands for the bag finally achieved "suspicious" status in his brain. "What **is** it with you an' this bag?"

Never a good liar, Cordelia was slow with a response. "I just…feel safer if I'm carrying it," she finally said. _It's true enough,_ she rationalized, _even if it's not technically the **whole** truth…_

Doyle didn't believe her. He shook his head, trying to figure it out. "What's in here?" he finally asked, hefting the bag down from his shoulder and reaching for the zipper.

Cordelia reacted quickly, snatching the bag away from her confused friend. Unfortunately, he'd already gotten hold of the zipper by the time she grabbed the bag away, and the contents fell out onto the dock between them with the clanging of heavy metal on wood. Doyle's eyes were immediately drawn to the ancient-looking glove that had fallen out and tumbled off the lethal pile of weapons. Well…the word "glove" was an understatement. "Cannon" might be a better one. Because although he could see how the device would fit over a person's arm, the wide muzzle at the firing end revealed the mechanism's true function. The design was simple and effective, the steel worked smooth, its shine dulled over centuries. The metal exterior was pitted and scarred from use, and still it somehow looked exotic and dangerous. Next to the more modern array of weapons that had fallen out of the bag, the gauntlet was older by far and infinitely more mysterious. He recognized it in an instant; after all, he'd seen it only the day before on the arm of the demon that had started all of this. Eyes wide, Doyle looked up at Cordelia for an explanation. "What's this?"

"It's uh…a meat pounding thing," Cordelia said. She made ridiculous little punching gestures.

Doyle blinked. Looked back at the device. "You pound meat, Cordelia, you don't kick-box it. I know what it is. Where'd it come from?"

Cordelia sighed in exasperation, throwing her hands up. "If you knew what it was, then why did you ask?"

Doyle took her by the arms, looked her in the eyes. "Where'd it come from, Cordy?"

She looked away, uncharacteristically avoiding his eyes. "The gauntlet fairy?" When the Irishman simply continued to stare at her, she sighed again and dropped the act, pushing away from him. "From the Time Keeper, okay? Come on. What, do you think you can order them from Amazon dot com? I told you, he was waiting for me back at the offices. I managed to get it away from him in the scuffle, and that's why he took off."

"An' were ya ever gonna tell us you had it?" Doyle asked, incredulous that she would keep such a thing a secret. 

"Yes!" Cordelia fired back. "I was going to tell you…just as soon as we were done, here. But this is more important right now."

Doyle's brow wrinkled in confusion. "But…this is your way home," he struggled with the concept, not understanding. "What could be so important here that you'd risk not goin' home fer?" 

There was a beat, and it finally hit him. When Cordelia met his eyes again, he knew. There was guilt and sorrow and regret on her face that she couldn't hide, and he knew. It hit him like a blow, and he staggered back a step, wishing there were a nice, comfy chair to collapse into. Or a pool of Scotch. Blood thundered in his ears, which he thought was sort of odd since his heart suddenly felt like it was beating erratically. He felt Cordelia's hand on his arm, felt her concern, and he looked into her eyes again. Searched for the truth. "I'm dead, aren't I?" he asked. "In your time, I'm dead."

Cordelia swallowed, forcing herself to return his gaze. She took a deep, hitching breath and exhaled. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded. Doyle's blue eyes darkened, his expression turned grim. He finally exhaled, and she realized he'd been holding his breath. "I knew," he said softly. "Somehow I think I knew. From after the vision. I mean, why would they need you ta have the visions if I were still around, ya know?" He shook his head; Cordelia watched as he half-turned away from her and went to the railing, looking down without seeing. "I knew I had ta be gone. I just didn't know fer sure if I was…I guess I was hopin'…"

Cordelia joined him at the rail, impassioned. "Hope, Doyle," she urged. "Don't give up. It's not going to happen this time."

He didn't look at her; his head bowed beneath the weight of a future without him in it. She covered one of the hands on the railing with both of her own, trying to make him see. "Listen to me, Doyle. It won't happen. I'm not going to let it."

Something in her words caught his attention, and he finally turned his head toward her. Again he sought the answer in her eyes. "Today? Am I the life you wanted to save today, Cordelia? Is that why you changed the plan?"

"Yes," Cordelia admitted, "and it'll work! Come on, Doyle! I know what's going to happen. I can avoid it! We've got more than a shot, here."

"But you're not the only wild card," Doyle countered. "Don't forget about the Time Keeper. He's already surprised ya once. He's tryin' his damndest to make sure things go the way they did the first time."

Cordelia bent down and scooped the gauntlet from the deck, brandishing it at Doyle as proof. "Yeah, and between the two of us, which one leaves with the shiny toys, and which one keeps running away with new holes, huh?" 

Doyle nearly smiled, even as he shook his head at her arrogance. "An' what if it can't be changed, did ya think about that at all?" Cordelia's confident expression wavered, and he could see that she had. He pressed on anyway. "What if there really is such a thing as destiny, and no matter what ya do, ya can't change it? What if I'm just **meant** ta die today?"

Cordelia was quiet for a moment, but not because she didn't know how to answer the question. She simply wanted her words to have the maximum impact on him. She leaned in close, felt the heat from his body and the instinctive reaction to her proximity as she looked him squarely in the eyes. "If your death is pre-destined, then why is the Time Keeper so desperate to stop me from changing things?"

Stunned, Doyle realized she had a point. It wasn't easy to shake off the shroud of doom that cloaked him, but he knew she was right. Since the Time Keeper was trying so hard to keep the timeline unaltered, then that meant things **could** be changed. His death could be averted. He turned completely away from the railing, tremulous hope blossoming within him. "Well then, what the hell're we doin' standin' around out here?" he asked. 

Cordelia's smile in response was blinding and beautiful, causing his heart to lurch. The feeling of hope grew stronger, and they quickly bent to retrieve the weapons, tossing them haphazardly back into the bag in their renewed urgency. Cordelia let Doyle take it this time, saving the crossbow for herself. She kept her eyes on the dock behind them as they headed for the hatch, seeing nothing. For the first time since Angel and Doyle had agreed to help her try to change the past, Cordelia felt like they actually had a chance. They were going to make it. They were really going to do it. 

She felt that way right up until they went through the hatch into the cargo hold and found the Scourge waiting for them.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

For the second time in twenty four hours, Cordelia leaned against the passenger's side door of Angel's car and watched the city streak by as the world ended around her. Last night, she knew, it had only felt that way in light of her discovery of Doyle's death. Tonight, of course, the **actual** end of the world was a distinct possibility.

There'd been too many people and too many weapons to fit into one vehicle, so the group Cordelia had begun to refer to as the Lost Boys piled into a dark van and squealed out of the warehouse parking lot. Wesley and Gunn, their brief confrontation forgotten in the face of the violence they would surely confront together tonight, hurried after the van in Gunn's truck. Cordelia had slid into the passenger seat of Angel's GTO and pretended not to notice the vampire looking at her. He'd persisted, however, and - apparently closer to her own personal breaking point than she'd thought she was - she'd finally snapped. "What?" she demanded, glaring at him.

Angel had stood outside the car, the driver's side door unopened in front of him. "I'm not sure I want you to come," he'd said. 

Despite her fear and uncertainty at what lay ahead, Cordelia had been stung. Seeing her hurt, Angel was quick to clarify. "I just mean…what we're going into. It could be dangerous. And you didn't ask for any of this. You're not really part of it."

And even though she'd known what he meant, **that** had hurt, too. It was a reminder that she was out of place, here. She was Cordelia, but not theirs. Angel was her friend, but he was different from the one she'd always known. But she couldn't get back to the life she knew. And if she didn't belong here, then where? "I'm going," she said with finality. 

Angel appeared uncertain. "I just don't know that I can guarantee your safety, Cordelia. We're not really sure what we're up against."

Cordelia was droll. "Angel, if I rolled my eyes any harder they'll pop out of my skull. We're up against the same thing we're always up against," she said, looking straight ahead out through the windshield once more. "The complete and total annihilation of life as we know it. Again." With that, Cordelia had crossed her arms; as far as she was concerned, the conversation was over. 

Now they were nearing their objective. Ahead of them, she could see the taillights of Gunn's truck flash as he braked behind the van across the street from the law offices of Wolfram and Hart. Despite her brave words earlier, Cordelia felt dread clutch at her again when she looked upon the towering building. She just had this awful feeling that everything was about to go completely wrong. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The cargo hold resonated with sudden, deafening silence. Cordelia's ears rang with it as the blood rushed from her extremities, shocking her numb with cold. Next to her, Doyle inhaled sharply and skidded to a stop, running into her as he caught sight of the uniformed demons. Cordelia fought for balance as Doyle stiffened, and she ended up slightly behind him, her shoulder pressed into his. 

There were at least thirty of the Scourge in the hold, though only a dozen occupied the catwalk with Doyle and Cordelia. Angel was on his knees on the walk, facing the hatch they had just come through. His head was tilted up by the hand of the Scourge Leader, his pale neck was exposed to the long, wicked-looking blade the leader held there. It would be more than enough to sever his head, and that was just one thing vampires couldn't quite bounce back from. Recognizing his precarious position, Angel stayed very still. 

Most of the fanatical demons were down on the lower level, where the Listers had been herded like cattle into a large group. The half-demons looked up at the new arrivals on the catwalk with varying degrees of terror, helplessness, and bitter loss of hope. The mass betrayal on their faces cut through Cordelia like a knife, shredding her heart. She'd done this. She'd done this to them. If she'd left things well enough alone, all of these people would be safe right now. Her desire to save Doyle had doomed them all to death, and that knowledge ripped through her mercilessly. 

Her dark eyes were tortured when she looked up at the Time Keeper, standing beside the leader of the Scourge. The magnificently horned demon had the grace to look ashamed of the ultimate result of his actions, but it was clear whose side he was on. Still, he felt the need to say something. "I had no choice," he said. "Things must happen as they were meant to."

Cordelia's voice was hard, "And you really think that's what's gonna happen, here? Wake up. You've brought the Scourge here to slaughter these people. They'll all die, and they weren't supposed to. How is **that** protecting your precious timeline?"

The Time Keeper averted his eyes, unable to meet her burning, embittered gaze, and felt the unfamiliar sensation of shame welling up inside him. It was with dismay that he realized it was long past the time when he should have handed over his duty to his successor. He'd been in his position too long, and now his longevity and the amount of time he'd spent around mortals was working against him. He should have felt nothing but the overwhelming directive to keep the timeline untouched and pristine. It should have precluded everything else. Instead, here he was obsessing over the guilt he felt; he regretted that he'd had to force this situation. 

Next to him, the Scourge leader was triumphant. "You are beaten," he said to Cordelia. "Lower your weapon."

Cordelia swallowed, her grip tighter than ever on the crossbow in her left hand. Though she knew nothing she did now would save them, she was reluctant to part with the weapon. _Weapon. Wait…wait a second. The weapons… _ The weapons bag. It was still slung over Doyle's shoulder, and it hung against his back. He'd frozen after their collision, and his shoulder slightly obscured the right side of her torso. A jolt of hope shot through her. Affecting a bravado she didn't feel, she spoke boldly. "I'm at a disadvantage, not stupid. I drop this crossbow and you kill us all." Next to her, she felt Doyle tense when he felt her hand against his back, and she pressed lightly, hoping he'd catch on to what she hoped to do without giving anything away. She was relieved when he carefully didn't look at her, relaxing against her a moment later in silent understanding of her plan. She slid her hand down the cool expanse of his leather jacket until she felt the rougher material of the duffel bag.

"You're dead no matter what you do," the leader replied. 

"Oh yeah?" Cordelia asked, "Then why should I surrender? I could take at least one of you pigskin, nazi freaks with me." As she talked, her fumbling fingers finally found the zipper and slowly drew it toward her, hoping her voice would cover the quiet but unmistakable rasp. 

Kneeling on the floor, Angel's eyes narrowed. He'd picked up on the stalling tone in Cordelia's voice, and he watched her acutely. The Scourge Leader - confident that his victory was already assured - wasn't apt to notice, but from his vantage point the vampire could see that one of Cordelia's hands wasn't accounted for. In fact, it was totally blocked from view by Doyle's left arm. Angel's gaze flicked to the Irishman; Doyle stood perfectly still, carefully giving nothing away. Over his shoulder was a dark strap, and suddenly Angel remembered the weapons bag that Cordelia had brought along. That must be what Doyle had, and Cordelia must be reaching for it now, out of view of the enemy. His eyes shot back to Cordelia, and her expression confirmed his guess. Her meaningful look told him to get ready, and he tensed.

Behind Doyle's back, Cordelia fished her arm into the bag and quickly located the gauntlet. Luckily, it was resting so that the opening faced toward her, and she slid her arm into it. The cool metal embraced her arm, and her fingers reached for and found the buttons on the underside of the handle bar down at the bottom. She settled her grip comfortably and took hold.

The leader appeared unconcerned by her suggestion. "You can certainly try," he said. "It would no doubt be an amusing diversion before the final glory." With that, he gestured regally and Cordelia followed the movement up to the ceiling of the hold. A hatch slid slowly back from its docking station, revealing a sliver of bright light that pierced the gloom of the interior. The sliver soon grew into a square of sunlight, shining radiantly for a moment before it was blocked out by a large, dark object. The mysterious object hovered momentarily above the deck before descending into the hold. As it sank into the darkness, throwing off the sunlight that had glinted from its faceted surface, Cordelia was seized by horror. It was the beacon. 

If just being on this ship was enough to enable her to vividly remember the events of two years ago, seeing the beacon – the device that had threatened agonizing death for all of them, and had claimed Doyle so horribly – slammed her right back into the moment. After everything she'd seen since being displaced, this final image made her forget who she was. Made her forget her own time. For right now, this moment, she was simply Cordelia. She was on the Quintessa, and Doyle was going to die. They were all going to die. She had to stop it. 

The descending beacon had drawn the rapturous gazes of the Scourge and, in the midst of her revulsion, Cordelia saw her chance. With a pointless, regretful thought toward the crossbow in her left hand – she was right handed, and therefore there was a very real possibility that her shot would miss its intended target – Cordelia ducked out from behind Doyle and fired. 

At the same moment, Angel snapped his head back and felt his skull connect solidly with bone. Unfortunately, his proximity to the leader denied him any real inertia, so the damage was unlikely to be disabling. Nevertheless, it proved to be a distraction as the leader hissed in pain, and Angel ducked away from the blade. He flung himself to the floor and rolled, hoping it would take him away from the enraged demon quickly enough to avoid getting stabbed. It was a fortuitous bit of luck that his roll propelled him directly into the legs of the Time Keeper, causing the demon to topple like a felled tree. 

As Cordelia swung her other arm out into view, Doyle threw off the weapons bag and lunged forward into the bedlam that erupted. The demon nearest him was the unfortunate recipient of Cordelia's shot; in her attempt to ensure the demon was hit she'd aimed for center mass, and the bolt had caught him just under the third rib on his left side. Doyle used the demon's surprise and pain to his advantage, knocking an uppercut into the screaming demon that sent him staggering back to the rail. There, inertia carried him over and he fell to the bottom of the hold with a final-sounding thud. 

Cordelia's mind raced. They were severely outnumbered against the Scourge. She'd managed to take them by surprise, but that advantage was diminishing with every moment and she thought furiously to find a way out of this. The Listers were terrified and weaponless…no help there. Worse, the Time Keeper was even now pushing himself to his feet, eyes everywhere as he sought her out. The determination in his manner scattered her thoughts. His mission now was threefold. He had to correct his original mistake of displacing Cordelia, ensure that events here happened as they were meant to, and – now – to regain his gauntlet. The last thought jogged her memory…something he'd said to her…something about the device she now bore on her arm.

"It will always find its way back to the Time Keeper", he'd said. Meaning, she reasoned it out, that he was sure to get it back at some point, no matter what she did. So why was he so anxious to retrieve it right here, right now? It could only be because he was worried about the damage she could do **before** he got it back. _The damage she could do…_

In her moment of clarity, Cordelia remembered the first, devastating blasts at the Hyperion. Remembered the splintered staircase, and the energy that had crackled and burned through the spot she'd been standing in. Below, panicked cries rose from the Listers and Cordelia rushed to the railing. At the opening sounds of violence, the score of Scourge demons had backed together, their weapons trained, keeping their captives well contained to a corner of the hold. Several craned their necks to look up at the catwalk, trying to see what was happening. Above them all, the beacon finally came to the end of its play and hovered there, swaying ominously. 

__

All right, Cordelia thought, _time to do a little damage. _Blocking out the chaos behind her as Angel and Doyle took the good fight to the Scourge, Cordelia braced herself and fired. 

She was utterly unprepared for the results. It had looked so easy when the Time Keeper did it. He simply raised the gauntlet and fired. And when he missed each time, he just fired again, and again. It was everything she'd been able to do to avoid his relentless discharging of the gauntlet. So she'd pretty much assumed it would be just as effortless for her…but she'd been wrong. Since she was wearing it rather than running from it this time, she was able to notice the way the gauntlet seemed to _glow_ when she pressed the first button inside. Little green lights, previously unnoticed, lit up alongside the device as it emitted a high-pitched whine. Cordelia associated it with the startup sounds of an ancient, massive computer. And then came the draining.

If she'd thought she went cold before, when the shock of stumbling into the trap the Scourge had set for them numbed her, she was mistaken. Now she felt as if all of the warmth from her body was literally being drawn out of her. The feeling was akin to emerging from a nice, warm bed only to be plunged into dark, sub-zero temperature water, fathoms beneath the ice-locked surface. She shivered violently as every heat-producing action taking place in her body suddenly stopped working for her, and started working for the gauntlet. Cell division, metabolism, electrical brain activity, everything was drained to provide the power necessary for the gauntlet's blast. Her heart beat for it. 

When it came it was like an explosion. It rocked her back and – sapped of energy – Cordelia fell, gasping for air. Her Scourge targets fared even worse. In their fervent desire to gun down the half-demons they considered abominations, they had separated themselves cleanly from the huddled mass of Listers. Cordelia's blast didn't capture them all, but it was hellfire and death for those it did. The surviving members of the "superior race" screamed in terror and pain as their fellows suddenly became living, breathing incendiary devices. A moment later they were not so much with the living and breathing part, as they burst into flames and exploded, showering charred flesh en flambé down upon the survivors. The few remaining Scourge on the lower level scattered.

Lying on the catwalk above, Cordelia's extremities tingled as feeling began to return to her. She was still chilled, but the sensation was fading, her body recovering. To her right she could see the leader squaring off with Angel, the vampire in game face, even as the fanatically devoted reinforcements left on the catwalk rushed to help him. Somewhere out of her line of sight she thought she heard Doyle calling her name, but before she could even summon the energy to respond something was grabbing her, picking her up as if she were a rag doll. It was the Time Keeper.

He looked at her, trying to keep his expression impassive as she struggled weakly with him. He knew all too well what it felt like when the gauntlet took the power it needed from its bearer but, of course, he had more life energy than the girl. She was, after all, only human. While he could – if pressed, as he had been earlier – fire the gauntlet over a half a dozen times in succession, a human would be lucky if it could manage half that. Unfortunately for her and her friend, he couldn't allow this mortal to find that out. He knew what he had to do, but he felt nothing but dismay and pity when she pushed futilely at his chest. Despite herself, tears welled in her eyes and spilled over. "No," she cried pathetically, pushing at him with muscles that were regaining their strength far too slowly to do her any good, "don't you touch him. Don't you do it…I'll kill you, I swear to God."

Doing his best to ignore her pathetic cries, he grimly propped her back up against the railing. The destruction she'd caused was a flaming backdrop behind her as she sat on the catwalk, and he felt another moment's sympathy for her. She'd tried…no one could fault her that. In a way, he had developed a great deal of respect for her; she'd proven a worthy adversary. He vowed to himself that he would return her to her own time before the Scourge could take any revenge on her. He turned his attention to the gauntlet. 

Suddenly there was a biting, unbearable agony in his shoulder. He recoiled, whirled in pain. 

Doyle fell back a little as the enraged demon swung toward him, nearly tripping over the weapons bag he'd left there at the moment of their coordinated surprise attack. The Time Keeper's eyes burned into him, accusing; they took in the blood on the blade of the axe in his hands. Doyle defensively raised the weapon higher, prepared to use it again to protect Cordelia. And as they faced off he felt that feeling again…that sense of doom. He'd felt it earlier…as if there were a clock somewhere, counting down with each tick toward some unknown but unstoppable event. It was a pressure. An eye, searching for him. Only now he knew what it wanted. In that moment he felt that the eye was going to find him, soon. And when it saw him the pressure would become too much and…

The Time Keeper snarled, emitting a roar, and came at him. Doyle stood his ground for about half a second before realizing he might be protective, but he wasn't stupid, and ran. After all, if the Time Keeper was chasing him, he couldn't hurt Cordelia, right? And one look at the demon was enough to tell him that he wasn't going to be defeated by a vertically challenged Irishman. _I mean come on, _he thought, darting away, _the guy's gotta have two hundred pounds on me. And the horns…well Jesus, look at the horns!_

If there hadn't been death and fire and blood and screaming all around, it would almost have been comical as Doyle scampered away from the enraged demon that pursued him. He ran along the catwalk and slammed right into the knot of Scourge demons surrounding Angel. In their frenzy, they didn't even notice Doyle. Hopping up to see over their heads as he ran around them, he spotted Angel in the center, fighting three demons at once. Another charged from behind him, but the vampire anticipated the move and used the demon's own momentum, tossing him at two others who were bowled over. "Angel, man," Doyle called, hopping up ridiculously to keep his friend in sight and still manage to somehow move away from the threat behind him. "The Time Keeper, uh…"

"Little busy," Angel bit back in response, grunting as he took a fist to the stomach. Luckily, he had no air to lose, and bounded back up to deliver a skull-cracking head butt to the demon in front of him.

"Right," Doyle breathed, risking a glance behind him to check his pursuer's progress. Alarmed, he watched as the scaled demon tossed members of the Scourge off the catwalk left and right as he beat a path through. Doyle quickly ran the other way, skirting the fight as more demons fell to their deaths. 

At the other end of the catwalk, near the stairs, Cordelia had nearly recovered. Her breathing was no longer labored, and her mind had cleared. The tears were stains on her cheeks, forgotten. It was time to end this. 

She watched as Doyle led the Time Keeper on a merry chase around the steadily dwindling throng of demons that Angel was fighting, and she crawled over to the weapons bag. By the time they headed back her way she had regained her feet and stood ready, sword in one hand, gauntlet on the other. Doyle thundered up, nearly running into her for the second time in ten minutes. He skidded to a halt next to her, looking nervously from the Time Keeper to the hatch behind them. He felt the urge to grab the sword from Cordelia's hands and defend her, but he also wanted very much to just grab **Cordelia** and run, just get out of here. Get away from this Energizer Demon. But as the Time Keeper slowed his approach to warily stop before them, Cordelia made his decision for him. "Get down there," she said, indicating the lower level of the cargo hold with a sideways jerk of her head. "Get them out."

Doyle was torn. "But what about…"

"Do it," Cordelia ordered, never taking her eyes off the Time Keeper, who stared straight back at her. "I've got this." With one last, worried look over his shoulder, Doyle took the stairs down two at a time, leaving her alone with the demon. They stared at each other for a long moment. "So," Cordelia said at last, "I guess you haven't filled your quota for getting your ass kicked today." She raised her sword. "Let me help you with that."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Everything had gone smoothly so far. With a little skill – and a lot of luck – they'd managed to get inside the building. Correctly assuming that the heaviest security would be centered around the traditional entrances and the tunnel access, Angel had broken in via the roof on his own and then came down to let the others in. Still, despite the care they took to avoid detection, and despite the presence of the security guard that had briefly gotten in their way, it seemed almost too easy. 

The hallways were atypically deserted, even for this hour, and Angel looked around nervously as Wesley, Gunn and Cordelia gathered around in a huddle. Gunn's weapon-toting friends were spread out, eyes in all directions. "All right," the vampire said, "we don't know where they might be holding Fred. Or Darla. But if there's one person in this place who knows what's going on, it'd be Lilah."

"So her office, then?" Gunn asked, and Angel nodded.

"We've got to start somewhere." He paused though, before turning to lead the way, and looked at Cordelia. Then at them all. "Guys, this may be the last chance to get out. I can't ask you to follow me knowing there's a good chance they know we're coming. Anyone who wants to leave now, can."

He looked around at his small circle of friends, receiving nervous glances in response, but also grim determination and support. He nodded a final time, then led the way.

They crept through the hallways, disturbed again by the lack of activity. Surely there should have been more than just one guard to dispatch? Adding to the surrealism were the fully-lit corridors. It was hard to sneak around with 52-Watt Sylvania Whites burning down on you. The building didn't seem to have gone into "night" mode, indicating that business hours had not ended. So where was everyone? 

And even on guard, even suspecting a trap, they were unprepared for the ambush when it came. 


	10. Chapter 10

Angel knew it was a trap from the moment they entered Lilah's office. He'd detected suspiciously few humans besides his own makeshift ops team as it made its winding way through the building and had hoped that – for once – luck was simply on their side. Now, the combined presence of those lying in wait for him was ridiculously blatant. He became aware of them suddenly, as if they had just appeared out of thin air. When he saw the man in the turban by the window – a man who could have been the twin of the channeler Wolfram and Hart used to control Cordelia's visions a few weeks ago – he realized what had happened. Somehow his own senses had been muffled. He had, after all, been one of Wolfram and Hart's major areas of interest. They'd known about Darla; it stood to reason that with all of the darkly sinister, magically-inclined people on payroll, at least one of them would have known how to blind his supernatural perception. Their abrupt appearance was a blip that hadn't been on his radar a moment ago. Now the blinders were off, and he could see. He could hear their heartbeats; he could even smell them. 

With a sinking heart Angel watched as his people – the people who'd trusted him to lead them – were surrounded by men decked out in black SWAT team uniforms. Each of the black-clad aggressors carried a silence-modified assault rifle; each sported a riot vest and utility belt that boasted a small arsenal, including tasers and sharpened stakes. The men were silent and well-trained, and they would have ensnared their captors without a sound, had one of Gunn's old crew not been doing reconnaissance down the hall. He'd come back around the corner to report an all-clear when he saw the commando team moving into the room his friends had just entered. His warning shout and burst of gunfire came too late to stop the ambush, and too late to save his life. Before Cordelia and the others even knew what was going on they were surrounded, and their man in the hallway was dead. 

Gunn reacted immediately to the entrapment, slamming an elbow into the windpipe of the masked man nearest to him. The commando flew back, choking, into the waiting arms of Rondell, Gunn's one-time partner and unofficial leader since his departure. Before the man could follow up on Gunn's initiative he was hit over the back of the head by another commando, and he fell to his knees. Another brutal blow knocked him completely to the floor. A short fistfight broke out as the gang rallied to their fallen leader's defense, but it was no match. Fists and fury just weren't enough to fight back with, and they were quickly subdued. 

Angel kept a steadying hand on Cordelia's arm, which he had instinctively clutched when the lightning-quick fight had broken out. Even knowing that none of them were likely to get out of here alive, even past the biting guilt that these people would probably all die for having followed him, he felt a sudden surge of protectiveness toward Cordelia. Of all of them, he felt the most responsible for her. She wasn't even from this time; she'd had no part in the circumstances that had brought them to this end. He wanted to protect her, to make sure she survived. He wanted to be ready to somehow save her, if he could. 

It was no surprise when Lilah stepped out of the room adjoining the office, a wide smile on her face. The smile was pleased, and its smug confidence chilled Angel. If Lilah Morgan was happy, that meant things were going to be even worse for them than he'd thought. 

Looking like the proverbial cat that ate the canary, Lilah sauntered up to the vampire. "Angel, how nice of you to drop by. You're right on time."

Which begged the question, on time for what? But Angel wasn't playing this game. "Where's Fred?"

Lilah tilted her head, amused. "Look at you. You still think there's a way out. You still think you can win, somehow." She stepped closer, cockily leaning in toward him as if to impart a secret. "I've got news for you, Angel…you can't. This is it; this is the end. The culmination of nearly two hundred and fifty years worth of watching and waiting and scheming. It was all for tonight." 

Disturbed by the ominous statement, Angel finally succumbed to the inevitable and asked the question the businesswoman obviously wanted to answer. "What have you done, Lilah?"

She grinned broadly in response, and again her confident expression unnerved him. "Settled the biggest project in the history of this company. In the history of this world, even. But first things first," she answered, nodding to one of the lethal commandos. Without a word he turned and left the room, returning a moment later carrying Fred. The girl was limp, clinging only tenuously to a delirious consciousness. When the man unceremoniously dumped her on the floor near the captives, she made a small mewling sound and then curled up on her side.

Wesley rushed forward and dropped to his knees beside her, ignoring the half dozen guns that swung his way at the movement. "What have you done to her?" he demanded.

"Done?" Lilah asked, adopting an innocent expression. "Well, all we did was kidnap her, lock her in a dark, stifling room with no windows and wait for you, but she went completely batty. By the time we went to get her out she'd written all over the walls. That is one serious loony you've got on your hands."

"You pushed her too hard," Wesley said bitterly. He turned to Angel and he could see the vampire also realized the significance of Fred's writing. "She's regressed," he said needlessly. 

Lilah leaned back to rest against the desk and the overall effect was a study in leisure; she reminded Angel of a lioness on the plains of Africa, appearing to be at ease but with her sharp eyes always on the prey. "She served her purpose," Lilah said, pinning Angel with a glance. "Namely, getting you here. If that damned demon had done what I told him to, we wouldn't have had to bother."

Angel was quiet, watching her. Playing along and giving the responses expected of him until he knew what was going on. "Sorry to disappoint you."

Lilah was amused. " 'Disappointed' is putting it lightly. Because in one fell swoop the Time Keeper failed to kill you **and** managed to displace my best option for bait. Remembering how keen you were to save Cordelia when we were…well, let's just say 'directing' her visions…I figured she'd be the best bet. But you roll with the punches, right Angel? You take what you can get. And in this case, what I took was defective. But hey, she got you here."

"So why all the trouble?" Angel was getting tired of having to guess. He didn't see any easy way out of this, but he couldn't see any advantage in playing Lilah's game, either. "Why, after all this time, do you suddenly want me dead?"

"Because we finally have what we need from you," Lilah gloated, and she practically shone with radiance. "Wolfram and Hart has had its eye on you for a long time, Angel. A long time. Since the beginning, in fact, though it took a while for you to emerge as the one in the prophecy."

Wesley looked up. "What prophecy?"

"Oh don't worry, Wesley, you didn't miss anything," Lilah assured him condescendingly. "It's not of this world. Though you've been there recently." She winked. 

Gunn made the connection. "Pylea."

Lilah nodded, enjoying the spotlight and her advantage. "Our original home office, you might say. Back before the creatures of this world ever crawled out of the primordial ooze, primitive and brainless." She paused, raking Gunn's friends with her eyes. She smirked. "Looks like some of us got stuck there."

She watched them expectantly, but no one surged forward in indignation. Their faces were angry, but no one was stupid enough to risk a physical confrontation under the circumstances. Reveling in her power, Lilah went on. "But then came the prophecy. The vampire with a soul that would provide the way to total domination of this dimension. So we did the big corporate move, set up shop here, and have been bringing misery and death to the world ever since. All just to find you. Don't you feel special? Doesn't it just make you feel all warm and tingly inside?"

It made him feel sick. He remembered Holland's politely disinterested smile as they road the elevator down to the "home office"…only to arrive at their starting point: Earth. This dimension. As long as there had been evil, the dead lawyer said, Wolfram and Hart had been there. And no amount of fighting would ever be able to vanquish it, because you couldn't change people. The futility of it all had struck Angel then, leaving him desolate and cold, just wanting to give up and give in. And so he had, that night. He'd known perfect despair. He had been willing to throw away everything he was and everything he'd fought for, losing himself in Darla's familiar embrace with an abandon that stunned him now, in hindsight. He'd been precariously sliding down a slippery slope, and that night he'd reached the bottom. Only there had he found the truth he needed. The purpose, the reason to go on. He'd managed to pull himself out again, but now here was Lilah, telling him that not only was Wolfram and Hart responsible for pushing him to the breaking point, he was the reason they had even come here to begin with. It nauseated him, threatening to send him back down the spiral. Just how much was one person expected to overcome? Fighting for control, Angel bit out through clenched teeth, "Spit it out, Lilah. We're all tired of your games. What prophecy? What the hell do you want from me?"

"Well **I** want to kill you," she said, her tone warming. "And now I finally can…now that we've gotten what we need from you."

Finally, it clicked, and Wesley spoke the words they all were thinking. "The child."

Lilah smiled, speaking to Angel as if he was the only one in the room. "You were destined to be its father. We waited patiently for centuries to find you. If there's one thing the senior partners are, it's patient." She paused, re-thought. "Well, if there's one thing they are, it's evil. But they're patient, too. Evil and patient. They kept their ears to the ground and their eyes on all vampire activity. Your siring didn't cause much of a stir, though your demon did quickly catch their attention." She smirked knowingly as she ran her fingertips across one of his shoulders, down his arm. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were dangerous. Lilah was amused by his lethal, but impotent anger. "But it wasn't until you were cursed that they finally knew it was you. You can imagine their breathless anticipation – well, if they breathed, that is – as they waited for you to fulfill the prophecy. They waited a hundred years for you to get over your lame-ass guilt. When you shacked up with the slayer they thought surely she'd be the one to bear the child. And what a kid **that** would've been, huh?"

Angel felt the urge to growl. Until now he'd tried to remain silent, find out what was going on, and figure some way to get his people out of here alive. But now tendrils of rage coiled within him, creeping up and forcing their way to the surface through the cracks in the lid he'd clamped firmly down over his temper. Lilah turned, walked back to the desk, enjoying watching him fight for self control. "But those gypsies," she emitted a short, rueful little amused laugh, "they certainly fooled all of us with that 'one moment of true happiness' clause, didn't they? The senior partners never saw that coming…a fact which ensured the torturous, agonized death of at least a dozen seers working for the company. And then when you got your soul back again, you felt all guilty - **again** - and wouldn't even go near another woman so - "

She cut off abruptly as Angel launched himself at her, shoving her up against the desk. He moved so quickly that his hands were around her throat, his fangs inches from her neck, before she could do more than gasp a startled breath. Belatedly, several of the commandos moved to come to her aid but she waved them off, for the moment. "Now boys," she said breathlessly, feeling excitement, attraction and fear war within her at the vampire's proximity, "Angel won't hurt me. Because he knows if he does, all of his little friends here are dead before he even drinks his fill."

Angel snarled, fighting his own roiling emotions. He needed to get his people out, but something told him that they'd never be safe again if he didn't find out what was going on here. He felt fresh fear and anxiety threatening to add to the heavy burden of guilt he always bore, and he felt the absolutely overwhelming desire to snap Lilah Morgan's neck. He wanted to watch her eyes go wide as he squeezed the life out of her. But right now those eyes were already huge, pupils wide, as she stared raptly up at him. With disgust, he realized he was probably fulfilling one of her little fantasies and he threw her roughly aside. "Story time's over," he said harshly, "You're telling me that Wolfram and Heart have been watching me from the beginning, that they've been directing my life. You brought back Darla and played with my mind to get me to lose control. Congratulations, I did. Mission accomplished. Now tell me what it was all for."

Lilah straightened, breathing heavily after being flung halfway across the room. Gone was the playful gleam she'd had in her eye while taunting him. Now her look was purely sinister. "You still think this is all about you? You think your pathetic life has anything to do with this? Pay attention, Angel. You're nothing. You were means to an end."

Close to his breaking point, Angel grabbed her by her shirt front, lifting her toward him. "The child. What is it?" he demanded.

Unafraid, hateful, Lilah's smile was chilling. "A sacrifice. **The** sacrifice…the one the senior partners have been seeking for thousands of years." She grinned triumphantly as Angel released her, fear and foreboding on his face. She lowered her voice, dangerous now. "It all ends tonight. Do you want to know what the sacrifice is **for**, Angel?"

She didn't give him time to answer. Suddenly there was a stake in her hand, and she lunged for him. He evaded her easily. She'd had surprise on her side, but he was still a vampire and his reflexes were – as a rule – supernatural. As he twisted out of the way he grabbed her wrist, not holding back when he applied pressure. Lilah cried out as her wrist was crushed, and she dropped the stake reflexively, pained. It happened quickly, in the blink of an eye, and then he propelled her forward into the wall, taking a small measure of satisfaction in hearing bone crack on wood. Before she'd even had time to fall Angel had snap-kicked the gun out of the arms of the nearest commando, snatched it from mid air, and used it to bash in the face of the surprised man. He whirled as gunfire broke out behind him, between him and the door. With dismay he saw two of Gunn's friends cut down, even as the others sprang into action. "Out!" he shouted, "Get everyone out!"

Gunn heard him and started cutting a path to the door. His axe swung with lethal accuracy, causing heavy damage to all who got in his way. He grinned nastily as an arm – just an arm – fell into his path and he kicked it away. He snagged a woozy Rondell and ducked out of the room amid the screams of mortally wounded men. The others followed in his bloody wake while Angel brought up the rear. He grabbed Cordelia, kept her near as he fought his way toward the door. In front of him, Angel could see Wesley carrying Fred. And then they were all out and running down the hall.

In the office, Lilah pushed her way to her feet, stepping over a man with no legs on her way to the door. The man reached out to her, sobbing incoherently. Ignoring him, Lilah wiped at the blood streaming into her eyes from where her head had cracked into the wall. "After them!" she snapped to the few uninjured commandos. They ran out, but she grabbed the last one before he could join his fellows. She shoved him toward the man on the floor who had finally seen what had happened to the lower half of his body and was now screaming. "You. Finish him off, first. That screaming is giving me a headache."

Down the hall, Angel and the others were running blind. There was no scheme, no Plan B to fall back on. He towed a panting Cordelia behind him as he followed Wesley's familiar form. As he ran, his mind raced. It all ended tonight, Lilah had said. What did that mean? What was going to happen? She'd said the child was a sacrifice…a sacrifice for what? Angel stopped, torn. "What?" Cordelia asked, looking around wildly, "What is it?"

"Whatever it is they're doing," Angel said, "I've got to try and stop it." He pushed her toward the others. "Follow Wesley. Get out of the building."

"What about you?" Cordelia shouted, but the vampire was already gone. Hot tears threatened at all she'd just seen, and all that she might still see, but this was no time for it. She raced down the hallway after the others. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The Time Keeper watched Cordelia warily, trying to anticipate her next move. After issuing her challenge, the human had quickly and efficiently blocked his first attack, and he finally realized that she had to have had some training in weaponry. Perversely, that made him feel a little better. At least it was skill and not just blind luck that was defeating him at every turn. He decided to try reason one more time. "Surrender now, and no harm will come to you," he said.

Cordelia arched one eyebrow wryly. "Funny, I was just about to say the same thing. Except it would have sounded more like 'Give up now, and I won't shove this gauntlet up your ass'. "

"This is pointless," the demon replied. "You've shown me that you possess intelligence. Why can't you see that what you are doing must not be done? Time must remain unaltered."

Cordelia's eyes went wide in righteous indignation. She picked up an imaginary phone, held it to her ear. "Hello Kettle? This is Pot. You're black. What do you think **you** were doing? You were going to change time by killing Angel. How is this any different…just because I'm the one doing the changing?"

The Time Keeper tried to check his temper. "That was different," he attempted to explain again, "I was trying to save the life of my successor."

"Oh," Cordelia exclaimed, "You were trying to save a life. Right. You know, that's a novel idea…I wish I'd thought of it. 'Cause gee, if I were trying to save a life like you were, you wouldn't really have any room to talk now, would you? Oh wait. That's right, I **am** trying to save Doyle's life." She glared at him and the demon squirmed self-consciously. She went on, "You know, I just don't get you. You're willing to kill a complete stranger – one of the good guys, I might add – and change time to keep Wolfram and Hart from offing your replacement. But you won't use the same power to just go back and stop them from taking him in the first place? How stupid is that? "

There was a pause. The Time Keeper blinked. "I…never thought of it that way," he admitted.

"You never thought of it that way?!" Cordelia squawked, hitting him on the arm with the broadside of her sword. "You were going to kill Angel because you never **thought** of it that way?" 

The Time Keeper flinched more from embarrassment than pain as she whacked him again. The blow didn't hurt, but the flaw that she'd pointed out in his thinking was mortifying. "You don't understand," he said urgently, "we're programmed to protect the timeline at all costs. It never even occurred to me to change things until they ordered me to kill your friend. By then I was thinking ahead to what I could do to save him, not backward."

"Well that's very linear of you; you should be ashamed of yourself," Cordelia rebuked him. "And what's with letting them call the shots, anyway? Stand up and grab yourself a spine, already!"

"You're right," the Time Keeper admitted.

"And besides…what did you just say?"

"You're right," he repeated. "It is what I should have done from the beginning." The Time Keeper felt an overwhelming sense of relief. The solution was as close to perfect as he could hope for. He would simply return things to the way they had been for Cordelia and her friends, and go directly to the source to solve his problem. Now all he had to do was get his gauntlet back. 

He looked at Cordelia, who was beaming at this happy turn of events. "Well that's great!" she said. "I'll just finish my thing here, then you can go get your friend out, and…" she broke off, something in his gaze alerting her. With dismay, she stepped right into the hole she'd dug for herself. "I just convinced you to fight even harder to stop me, didn't I?" The Time Keeper nodded, and Cordelia sighed. "Well, crap." She lunged.

Below, Doyle hurried to the next hatch, trying to walk and see what was happening up on the catwalk at the same time. He couldn't see very well due to the angle, but it looked like they had resumed fighting. _Focus_, he reminded himself. He had to focus and get the Listers out; the sooner they were safe, the sooner he could go help Cordelia. But the pressure he'd felt earlier continued to build. With every step he took he grew more certain that whatever was supposed to happen here would be unavoidable. It was as if there was some obscure destiny waiting for him that became more sharply defined as he neared it. As if he, instead of moving through his life toward this fated moment, was being drawn to the inevitability of his death. He swallowed thickly, trying to fight past the stifling weight bearing down on him, but it just got heavier and more persistent. He could feel it inside, now. He was going to die. He was sick with fear and regret, but Cordelia had given him a job to do, and he was by God going to get the Listers out. But every hatch he'd tried so far had been locked from the outside, and it was with a sinking heart that he led the half-demons to the last one. Grasping the wheel tightly in his hands, he threw everything into trying to turn it, but it wouldn't budge. "Locked, like the others," he gritted, releasing the wheel as his palms burned in protest. "Damn it!" 

He looked up again, searching for Angel. The vampire was currently being flung over the rail of the catwalk by the Scourge Leader. The fanatical demon's legion was gone - burned, beaten and scattered - but he fought on. Angel grabbed the rail as he fell, avoiding the plummet to the lower level and he hung on grimly as the Leader advanced. Doyle started to race for the stairs to the catwalk, but a low-pitched hum distracted him. It sounded almost like the gauntlet had right before Cordelia fired it, only…bigger. He looked up, gaping. The beacon was glowing.

Up on the catwalk, the Leader looked up with a grin of triumph just as Cordelia looked up with horror on her face. The distraction allowed the Time Keeper to land a heavy blow to her head, knocking her down. Dazed, struggling not to vomit from the brutal combination of pain and terror, Cordelia pushed herself up again. "Don't you get it, horn-brain?" she shouted at the suddenly confused Time Keeper, "That thing will kill us all!"

She used his moment of indecision to her advantage, desperation lending her a strength she'd never before possessed. She swung, the gauntlet adding weight and momentum to her ordinary fist clenched deep down inside. The impact was staggering, and Cordelia was just as surprised as the Time Keeper when the demon stumbled back and fell down. Sparing him no more thought, Cordelia ran up the catwalk…leaving his unconscious form lying there.

Angel also utilized the distraction of the beacon, swinging up to land back on the catwalk, one hand scooping quickly at the metal beneath his feet. The Scourge Leader stared at him, hate gleaming in his eyes. "You will never triumph," he swore, "the beacon will burn you all!"

"Yeah?" Angel asked, revealing the discarded knife that he'd just retrieved from the floor. "At least you won't be here to see it." The Leader didn't even have time to dodge before the knife was buried inside him, shredding his insides. His mouth dropped open in a silent scream and he fell to the catwalk, immobile. Angel left him where he lay and rushed toward Cordelia, who was approaching him quickly. Behind her, Doyle reached the top of the stairs and raced toward them.

They all met directly in front of the suspended beacon, on level with it though it hung well away from the catwalk. Angel looked down to see the terrified faces of the Lister demons staring back at him. He turned to Cordelia. "The Leader said…"

"Its light will kill anything with human blood," Cordelia confirmed. "Which would, naturally, leave us all very dead."

Doyle was alarmed. "Well, it's getting brighter and that doohickey…it's fully armed, isn't it?"

Cordelia felt tingles of apprehension and dread trying to numb her. She backed away a step as Angel peered through the brightening glow at the beacon. "Almost," he said. "If I pull the cable, I think I can still shut it off."

"How're you gonna do that without touchin' the light?" Doyle asked.

"Angel, it's suicide," Cordelia said weakly. She stopped retreating, feeling as though she were watching this scene from far away…too far away to change events that – for her – had already happened.

"There's gotta be another way," Doyle said, frustrated.

Angel looked down at the helpless Listers below, then at Cordelia. "It's all right," he said, and Cordelia realized then that he thought **he** was the one who was going to die. That she'd been trying to save him… had led him to believe that he was alive in the future because that was the way she wanted it to be.

"No," she whispered, echoing herself helplessly, hearing words in her head.

__

The good fight, ya? You never know until you've been tested. I get that, now."

Doyle didn't say it this time; of course he didn't. Her arrival in this time had changed things, and he and Angel had never had that conversation. But the sentiment was still there as Angel clasped the Irishman's shoulder. Their eyes met in silent communication, a wordless moment of understanding between friends. Doyle felt Angel's hand squeeze his shoulder once, in goodbye. 

And then he swung, swung hard, and hit the vampire. Angel spun completely around, falling out and down almost in slow motion. He hit a string of chains hanging from the upper regions of the hold and sent them swinging on his way down. He landed hard, momentarily knocked out. Cordelia watched as if from a distance as Doyle looked up, came to her, his intent clear in his eyes. When he grabbed hold of her waist and drew her to him, she found that her hands were already reaching for him, pulling his head down to hers. Though she knew there was no mystical transference this time, he fused his lips to hers with a heat of passion and sorrow and regret and tenderness that took her breath away. She kissed him back with all of the urgency and desperation inside her, and then – too soon – he pulled away. Cordelia's heart broke at his expression. She'd seen it before, knew what was coming. _I can't see this again, I can't, I can't…_

Doyle touched her face lightly, knowing he was out of time but wanting to take one final caress with him as if to hold it, to cling to what might have been. "I guess there are some things ya just can't change," he said.

The tears that had been threatening finally spilled over, wetting her cheeks anew. She clutched at his jacket where she still held onto him, took a deep, shaky breath. She was drowning in his eyes, remembering. Living it again. She heard his voice, heard him too in her head when he said, "Too bad we'll never know…"

__

If this is a face you could learn ta' love, he'd said. But he wouldn't say it this time. His features changed, morphed, but when it was finished it was still him. It was still Doyle, and for the second time in her life Cordelia found him behind his now red eyes, behind the spikes. Saw him for who he really was. When he started to open his mouth again she pressed her fingertips over his lips. Made him forget about everything else but her for just a moment. "**_I_** know," she said, and watched as the meaning of her words registered. Watched both the love and the pain intensify in his eyes, and she was glad he understood, because she wanted him to take that knowledge with him.

Then she pushed him.

Doyle's plunge from the catwalk was less spectacular than Angel's. It had none of the spinning grace that had defined the vampire's descent. There was no violent energy forcing him out over the hold; he simply fell down, arms waving, until he hit the deck. Luckily, he was stronger in his demon form and was not injured when he landed in an ungainly heap several feet in front of Angel, who was just coming to. Angel cast a brief, uncomprehending glance at Doyle before both men looked up to the catwalk, where Cordelia remained alone.

And she'd never felt more alone in her life. Distinctly aware of the pressure on her, Cordelia nonetheless remained firm in her resolve. She would not let Doyle die. She would not let anyone die this time, not when she could stop it. The gauntlet had turned most of the Scourge army into barbecue…she couldn't wait to see what it did to the beacon. Determinedly, she raised the gauntlet and aimed at the lethal weapon, pressing the first button on the handle inside. The ancient device responded by powering up, and Cordelia prepared to be drained of energy to fuel the blast.

But the blast never came.

Cordelia looked down in astonishment. The gauntlet looked all right, all lights were green and…okay, well there were some red ones too, but they'd been there before, hadn't they? Did she not have enough power left, or something? Had she broken it, somehow? Cursing violently, she remembered hitting the Time Keeper; the blow must have somehow damaged the weapon function on the gauntlet. And in the wake of her anger came the fear and awful realization of what she'd just done. All of her options were gone. Angel had been removed by Doyle, following the original course of events. In her desperate quest to save Doyle, she'd gotten him as far away from the beacon as possible. And now the weapon she'd counted on to stop it wasn't working, and there was nothing and no one left but her. 

Panic rose up inside, threatening to immobilize her. She grappled with it, fought for control and tried to think of what to do. As the beacon kicked itself up to the highest level before detonation, and the glow began to become too bright to look at, Cordelia realized there was only one thing left **to** do. It didn't matter that she hadn't planned this, it didn't matter that she was only human, or even that she had more experience in waving pompoms around than in saving the day. The panic intensified, combined with despair and the fear every mortal has for death, but suddenly she realized it didn't matter. She finally knew how Doyle must have felt when he'd stood here…knowing that he was going to die no matter what he did. But at least his way, he could save everyone else. And now she stood in his place. Now it was up to her. There was no real choice.

Cordelia took a steadying breath, centering herself. The beacon swayed a considerable distance from the catwalk, and she remembered Doyle's jump in the original timeline. It had been magnificent, possible only due to strength and agility derived from his demon half. Cordelia didn't have the luxury of super powers…all she had was three years of throwing her body around on the Sunnydale High Cheerleading squad. She shut out the sound of the humming beacon, the sound of Angel's voice calling her name in growing alarm. She shut out the image of the steep drop beneath her, the heavy, frantic sound of her heartbeat, and raised her arms in the classic "High V" stance. 

Jumping was relatively simple as long as it was understood that there was a certain amount of distance a human being could reasonably cover from a set standing point. That distance could be increased when momentum was harnessed in a running start, but she had no room to gather momentum. Distance could be also be lengthened by directing one's energy in the most efficient manner. The action of "winding up" with one's arms achieved the same effect as coiling a spring. When released, the maximum amount of energy funneled exactly where it was desired: into the leap. The "V" posture was simply an aesthetically pleasing final touch, but Cordelia took comfort in its familiarity now. She was going to need every edge she could get. She closed her eyes, remembering the uncertain hope in Doyle's voice…

__

An' if it had been me? Would you 'a jumped fer me?

In a heartbeat.

…and she jumped for him.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Angel's hurried footsteps echoed hollowly in the stairwell as he descended another level into the depths of the Wolfram and Hart building. The meshed metal stairs thundered and hummed beneath his pounding feet, and to Angel it had the dead, empty sound of a tomb. Pretty apt, actually, since he was a walking dead man. 

If they'd really muffled his senses to remain hidden from him until they were ready to spring their trap, then they doubtless had the ability to locate him at will, as well. Even now they were probably tracking him. For all he knew, a fresh squad of commandos was waiting at the stairwell access on each level. The instinct of self-preservation urged him to turn, go _up_, get out...but he had to know what was going on. Had to try to stop it, if he could, and so he went down.

He had no information to go on…there'd been no indication as to where this sacrifice was going to take place. It was simply instinct that drew him deeper. Whatever they were up to, it certainly wasn't going to bring peace and joy to the world, and such dark workings traditionally took place far away from the threat of light and open sky. Dawn wasn't far off, and Angel felt its approach acutely. Vampires were always keenly aware of just how much night they had left before being forced to retreat before the coming day…but something told Angel that if he failed to stop Wolfram and Hart there might not **be** a day to come. 

And beneath all of that, another worry gnawed at him. The child was to be a sacrifice, Lilah had said, which implied that it was innocent. Evil things rarely got what they needed from sacrificing other evil things. Even Darla had been drawn to children, requiring ever more pure sources of blood to nourish the impossible life within her. The thing inside her that had a soul. The child that Wolfram and Hart wanted to kill…**his** child. He'd tried not to think of it that way – his – preferring instead to objectify it, designate it as quantity _n_, like an equation. Assume quantity A equals a vampire with a soul, and quantity D equals a vampire without a soul. Then A x D = _n_. The value of _n_ had been a relatively safe unknown, up until about ten minutes ago. It was a comfortably fuzzy idea without any real substance. He'd accepted the reality that _n_ was his offspring in concept, but it hadn't really hit him until just now that Darla was carrying his son or daughter. On the tails of that thought, he realized that from the beginning he had pretty much assumed it would be evil. He hadn't gotten attached to the idea of the child being **his** because he'd been sure, on some level, that it would be a monster. A demon. The sort of thing he killed every day. And so he'd kept his emotional distance from it (In his head he heard Cordelia, sarcastic as ever, "_You? Emotionally distant? You're kidding_!"), readying himself for the time when he would have to take responsibility for his actions. In light of this new information, however, the foundation of his preconception started to crumble and a truly awful sense of self-doubt seized him. What if he'd been wrong? What if the child…**his** child…was by some miracle innocent? A perfectly normal baby? Then through some action of his own this could be even more his fault. He suddenly felt that by trying not to care, he'd condemned his own child to death, and worse. 

With this new, superstitious worry needling away at him, Angel flew past the door with the words "Ground Level" on it, continuing down into the sublevel section of the Wolfram and Hart building. The next landing was the last; it led to the parking garage. Angel knew there had to be another level, lower than this one, but there was no way to get to it from here. Stifling a curse, Angel decided not to go back up and find an elevator with access to the depths of the building. There was no time. The access door slammed back against the cement wall as he rushed through it, his eyes scouring the garage for the way down. It had to be here.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Blood thundered in Cordelia's ears as she raced down the corridor, still following Wesley's retreating form. She wasn't sure if the former Watcher knew where he was going, but his knowledge of the layout of the building had to be better than hers. Her brief conversation with Angel had cost her several seconds, and she'd fallen behind. She hastened to keep up, panic clutching at her each time she lost sight of Wesley around a corner. She was running two hallways behind when a black-clad arm suddenly jutted out in front of her. She couldn't stop fast enough to avoid the blow and went down, her head cracking hard against the floor before everything went black.

When next she opened her eyes, the black had been replaced by blinding white. Far away, she thought she could hear the sounds of fighting. It was dim, though. The shouts of warning and screams and things breaking were distant, like waking in the middle of the night to raised voices at your neighbor's house. Not that Cordelia had ever had neighbors who did such things…please. Domestic violence was for the sappy, spineless women on the _Lifetime_ channel, telling their stories from the jail cell they'd been sent to after finally snapping and killing their abusive husbands. In the real world, **Cordelia's** world, when people got angry with each other, husbands had affairs and wives maxed out the credit cards. 

__

But I don't live there, anymore, she thought with a silly sense of regret. The thought was random, as disconnected from what was going on as she was. She thought the sounds of fighting seemed a bit louder, but she couldn't manage to get up and go find out what was happening. So for a moment she just lay there, concentrating on blinking. More than anything in the world right then she wanted to be able to close her eyes and shut out the piercing glare that seemed to go right through her eye sockets and burn directly into her brain. Finally, after a Herculean effort, she was able to blink, and with the relief from the glare came her memory. No, she didn't live in Sunnydale anymore. She lived in L.A. She worked for Angel. Doyle…Doyle was dead. She was in the future, and they'd come to rescue Fred. Then someone had hit her in the hallway. Ambushed. They'd tried to escape, but they'd been caught. Where was everyone else? 

She tried to sit up, finally registering the fighting sounds. Her throbbing head reminded her that she'd been attacked, and dizziness clutched at her, trying to bring her back down again. She fought against it, managed to sit up and steady herself. She looked up. The glare that had pinned her to the floor was nothing more than office-strength fluorescent lighting. Cordelia shook her head to clear it and was rewarded instead with yet more dizziness. But she was coming out of it…her thoughts were clearer; sounds were becoming sharper. At last she realized that the sound of fighting wasn't far away, as she'd first been led to believe…it was right here. Right in this room. 

And she **was** in a room. At some point, while she was unconscious, someone had moved her here. Her, and the surviving members of Gunn's gang. In grisly detail, everything finally came into focus. The dead and dying littered the floor all around her. White walls had been painted red with blood. Cordelia looked around wildly for Wesley and found him; he was fighting a commando, his back to her. Defending her, she realized. Her and Fred. The tormented girl was lying next to Cordelia, still locked in whatever nightmare it was that kept her from waking.

Mindful now of the ensuing war around her, Cordelia reached for Fred, grabbing hold of her arms and dragging her backward. There was nowhere to go, no safe place to hide, so she tried simply to pull her as far away from the carnage as possible. They fetched up against the wall, and Cordelia tried to shield her unconscious charge as much as she could from the horrors before them. 

Away from the thick of it, Cordelia could finally see the big picture. They were in a large, white room. At the far end there had been sliding doors, but they were smashed in now. At the center of the room was a monstrous contraption, all stainless steel and tubing and restraints. It reminded Cordelia of alien abduction movies, in which some Joe Normal hunter-type captive inevitably finds himself strapped down to some examining table as he is vivisected. And she wasn't far off, she didn't think, for strapped down to the table was Darla. 

The vampire was clad in what appeared to be a hospital gown, and her legs were locked in place into two gleaming stirrups that rose from the table in an outward "V" shape. The formation of the table was obvious to Cordelia…this was a birthing chamber. This is where Darla would play her final part in the destiny that Wolfram and Hart had orchestrated for her. 

Cordelia could see her struggling against the bonds that held her to the table, but they were too strong. Helpless, Darla gritted her teeth but couldn't bite down on the strangled cry that broke from her at the pain of her latest contraction. Above her, behind her, there was a large, swirling vortex. It defied comprehension. It was too huge, too much nothing to be in a space so small. It presented a hellish backdrop to the vampire's pain. With horror, Cordelia realized that whatever it was Wolfram and Hart were trying to bring here was waiting at the other end of that portal.

Numbly, past her terror, Cordelia wondered why she was here. Wondered why their enemies would have brought them right into the very heart of their operation, exposing it to danger. Then she thought of the smashed-in doors, and thought she knew. **She** had been brought here. She was the one who'd been attacked in the hallway; they'd brought her here as a lure for Angel. The others must have followed, come after her. They were responsible for the destruction at the hallway entrance. They'd come for her.

Stinging needles pricked her eyes…the tears that formed there were actually painful. She didn't even know these people, but they'd refused to abandon her. And now half their number was dead, and more would follow. And they'd all bought front row seats to the apocalypse.

Angel arrived like a sword of fire, cutting a swath through the men who dared to charge him. Closer, a knot of fighting came dangerously near, and Cordelia ducked and huddled closer over Fred as one body was flung through the air, landing heavily against the wall next to them before it fell to the floor. When she looked up again, she was horrified to recognize Wesley's lifeless eyes staring back at her. The ex-Watcher was still wearing his glasses, which had been broken and bore a smear of blood. "No!" she cried. 

The knot unraveled, and Cordelia could do nothing but watch in dismay as the commandos got the upper hand against Gunn's friends. Angel stood alone, fighting viciously and effectively, but he was outnumbered. More commandos swarmed in with every moment, and beyond the shattered doors Cordelia could see Lilah Morgan directing them, riding the wave of death into the room. On the table, Darla writhed and strained against her restraints, and several men in the traditional green garb of ER doctors stepped around the few skirmishes still in progress. Where there were dead men, they stepped over. They huddled around the pregnant vampire, only their eyes visible above the surgical masks tied around the lower half of their faces. Behind them all, the vortex swirled malevolently. The cries of beings suffering unbearable torture came through the portal, filling the room with the sounds of agony and despair. Then Cordelia's view was blocked by one of the doctors, and she frantically turned toward Angel. If there was any hope left at all, it would lie with him.

In a haze, she watched him fight off the horde of black-clad men around him. She watched him bite and maim and kill. It all seemed unreal…could this really be happening? Everything seemed to be in slow motion; nothing seemed to be able to break through this thick layer of surrealism that surrounded her.

Until she heard a baby's cry.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The beacon was burning her; already she couldn't stand it. She remembered the way Doyle had held on, pulling single-mindedly at the cable as his flesh was seared away, not giving up until finally he'd yanked it loose. It was the last thing he ever did, and the terrible price had been his life. When he'd finally broken, just before the end, he'd been unable to keep the scream back any longer, and it echoed now in Cordelia's ears as she stood where he had and felt just how horrible the pain truly was. She fought the rising urge to scream herself as the burning light bathed her in fire, stripping away her sanity. She could barely think past the agony of it, and she knew it was only going to get worse. Through half blind eyes that felt suddenly dry and bulbous, she looked for and found the cable. There was no way she'd be able to pull it out using her left hand, her free hand. Her right still bore the gauntlet. She could shake it off, let it fall, but she remembered how long it had taken Doyle to free the cable from its socket. She didn't think she had even that much time left. 

Throwing everything she had left into it, Cordelia smashed the heavy gauntlet into the base of the cable, where it was coupled with the display panel. It bent a little. She smashed it again. And again. 

From the bottom of the hold, Angel and Doyle looked up in horror. They'd watched helplessly as Cordelia executed an amazing leap onto the beacon's platform, pulling herself up into the light. Now, though they could scarcely see her form through the brightening glow, they heard metal striking metal and knew that she was trying to disable the device. 

Having shifted back into human form after his graceless topple off the catwalk, Doyle was dying inside as he tried to see Cordelia beyond the painful blaze of light. He was sick at heart, knowing that she was dying up there. And the pressure still bearing down on him was nothing compared to the guilt he felt...guilt like he'd never known it. Because he knew it should have been him.

Cordelia's whole world had narrowed down to the section of the display panel where the cable was connected. She couldn't have seen anything else if she tried; her vision had been burned away as if she'd spent hours staring into the midday sun. Her arms were blistered, her face raw. She thought she could smell the putrid stench of singed hair. But she kept hitting at the coupling beyond the pain, beyond all reason, gripping the handle inside the gauntlet tightly as she slammed it home over and over again. If she were going to manage this at all, it had to be soon. She was weakening quickly, feeling faint in the face of the overwhelming luminescence. Suddenly there was an intense flash of heat and energy. For a moment she thought she heard a familiar sound, a mechanical whine, and then she couldn't hear anything over the scream that tore from her. She couldn't hold it back as the light seared her. An enormous shock wave erupted through her, past her, taking what was left of her strength and reason. Her final thought was a wordless, despairing horror that she had failed. Then she let go, and darkness swallowed her.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Angel heard the cry, too. His head snapped up, eyes searching out and finding Darla on the table. She was exhausted. Sweat had long since beaded on her forehead, and now it ran down her neck in little rivulets. Her hair was plastered down, and she was staring at the small creature the men in the masks had just taken from her body. Cordelia was too far away to see the look of wonder that may have been in Darla's eyes, but it didn't matter, anyway. One of the doctors – if that's what they were – produced a stake and jammed it into Darla's heart almost as an afterthought. 

Angel noted the death, heard his sire's scream as she dusted, but his eyes were on the small infant held in the gloved hands of the head doctor. It had no real motor skills to speak of, but it kicked its feet slightly and clenched its fist as it tried to summon the breath for another cry. The whole room seemed to hold its breath along with it, waiting. When it came it was strong, alive and achingly innocent. And in that moment Angel knew the truth: his child was human. A miracle. It was his, and the people who had it were going to kill it.

With a wordless cry of defiance he threw himself at the men surrounding him, trying to break free of their circle. From the wall, Cordelia watched them yank out crosses that burned him and were meant to keep him penned. Angel let himself be burned and kept going. Everything was still in slow motion as he headed for the delivery table. Behind him, one of the commandos shot at him. The vampire jerked, but he kept going. A flash of steel from the center of the room drew Cordelia's attention back to the doctors. One of them had a silver dagger. He picked it up from a tray next to the table and held it out. Lilah was standing there, a mad sort of glee on her face as she took it from him. Cordelia could see her lips moving as she raised the dagger high above her head, its tip pointed sharply down at the squalling infant. Behind Lilah, the vortex had grown huge and swollen, gaping red like the maw of some giant, bloodthirsty creature. The screams of despair and pain intensified as something started to push through the portal. She heard Angel shout in helpless agony, a useless plea, but it was too late, too late.

And then the blade came down.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Angel and Doyle raised their arms in self-defense as the beacon shattered and glass rained down on them. There was a sonic boom that rocked the entire ship, sending not a few Lister demons to their hands and knees. Doyle fought for balance, brushing shards of glass out of his hair impatiently as he looked up. Whatever Cordelia had done, it had devastated the beacon. It swayed violently, a burned-out hulk of twisted, black metal. There was no sign of Cordelia, and a disbelieving sob tore its way out of his throat before Angel grabbed his arm. The vampire's grip was painful, urgent, and Doyle looked down again at him. He followed his gaze, heart leaping with guarded hope when he saw the fallen figure lying on the deck. "Cordelia," he breathed, and ran toward her.

When he got to her he dropped to his knees, turning her over. Shock jolted through him when he saw her long hair, her slightly younger face. It was his Cordelia. Not the one who'd just been up on the beacon's platform…the one that had been snatched away from this time over a day before. She was back. He didn't know how or why, but she was back and she was alive. And what was more, he felt free. The pressure that had been bearing down on him since they'd boarded the Quintessa was gone.

Cordelia's eyelids fluttered, then opened, and the shocked recognition in them when she saw him alleviated a generous portion of his worry. "Doyle?" she asked, and her voice was tremulous…afraid to hope. He knew the feeling. His heart wrenched at her haunted, traumatized expression, and he wondered what **she'd** been doing. What she'd seen that left her so terrified. He held out a hand to help pull her to a sitting position; to his surprise she slid further up, falling forward to embrace him desperately. Her arms went around his shoulders and held tight as she said his name again as if trying to convince herself that he was real. She was overwhelmed. He was here, he was alive, and all of the horrors she'd just seen hadn't happened yet. 

Angel watched as Doyle, obviously surprised but pleased, returned the embrace. Over his shoulder Cordelia squeezed her eyes shut, her expression a portrait of profound relief. "You're alive," she said tearfully after the long moment, pulling back. "She did it, she didn't let you die. I knew I wouldn't just let you die!" She panted, then finally paused and looked around. Took in the carnage of the cargo hold and the confused and frightened Lister Demons. "God it's real…all of it. I'm really here." She looked back at Doyle, then Angel. "And you're alive. Both of you. Everybody's okay. We're all okay." 

Overcome, she hugged Doyle again, blind to the lingering worry on the Irishman's face as he looked at Angel over her shoulder. The vampire swallowed, glancing up at the ruined beacon before returning Doyle's gaze. They had their Cordelia back…but what had happened to the other one?

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Awareness came to her slowly, and the first thing she became conscious of was that there was something cool in her hand…something cool and smooth. She drew it toward her and looked at the object dumbly, not understanding. It was a mug. Green and empty, it sat in her palm and she got the weird impression that it was looking back at her expectantly.

Cordelia blinked, breaking the odd moment of surrealism, and everything came crashing back to her. The Quintessa, the gauntlet, the beacon. Failing to shut it off before succumbing to the intense heat and pain. The pain as the light reached full strength, as it killed…Oh God. Had she killed everyone by trying to save one person's life? Had her decision murdered them all?

"She break another mug?"

The voice startled her, and she turned sharply. It was only after she lost her balance that she realized she'd been standing on a stool next to a high cabinet. With a crash the mug fell from her hand and shattered against the floor. Cordelia stumbled, reaching out instinctively to stop her fall and found Angel there, suddenly supporting her. He wasn't quite quick enough to keep her from falling, but he did save her from the impact. She stared up at him in astonishment as he gently let her feet find the floor. "Sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to startle you."

Startled wasn't the word for it. For the first time Cordelia noticed her surroundings, taking in the familiar setting around her. The refrigerator, microwave and stove of the hotel kitchen. She was back at the Hyperion. The ruined mug lay in shards at her feet and its significance finally broke through her scattered thoughts. The mug. _Did she break another…_

She. Darla. 

When it hit her, Cordelia felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She was back at the Hyperion. She'd been getting a mug for Darla, who kept breaking them because she'd gone all psycho-vamp in the midst of her impossible labor. Cordelia had failed, but somehow things had been returned to the way they'd been. Belatedly, she looked down to find her arms unscathed. She reached up to feel her face, which was smooth and unburned. Confusion set in. It had all happened, hadn't it? Suddenly she remembered the Time Keeper telling her that the gauntlet would always find its way back to him. She must have lost it. He must have gotten it back and put things right, the way they'd been originally. Unless she was simply insane.

The last day and a half had been…what? A dream? An alternate reality? Despair settled over her. What did it matter? Whatever it had been, it hadn't changed anything. They were still at the Hyperion, Darla was still going to give birth to the demon child from hell, and Doyle…

Cordelia closed her eyes as a pain of the purely emotional kind gripped her. Doyle was still dead. It had all been for nothing, then. Worse than nothing, because she'd thought she could save him. Because in that short time she'd remembered what it was like to have someone in her life who thought she was special. Because she'd fallen for him, daring to dream of a better future, and she'd lost him all over again.

When she finally met Angel's eyes he must have seen the pain there, because he kept a supporting hand under her arm. "What is it…what's wrong?"

She shook her head, too upset to speak. Just then there was a noise from the hallway, and Gunn entered the kitchen. He held a beer bottle, and he looked more jovial than Cordelia could remember seeing him, outside of the times when he got to show off his superior Playstation prowess. Gunn didn't seem to pick up on the dark atmosphere in the kitchen, possibly due to the beer. "Hey man, Wesley said to tell you Buffy and the Sunnydale gang are here. He'd have told you himself, but he and Fred are…well, him and Fred. They're a little busy."

He grinned as if Cordelia was supposed to understand what that meant, and she fought past sudden confusion, shaking her head. She latched on to the one thing that had come through clearly, even if it didn't make any sense. "Buffy?" 

She looked to Angel, who had brightened considerably and was already turning to leave the kitchen. As if suddenly remembering that something was wrong with Cordelia, he turned back reluctantly when Gunn answered her. "Yeah, Buffy. You know, the chick who used to be the slayer? For the Shanshu party…hello? It was your idea."

Angel chimed in. "Remember, you sent all the invitations with the little beating heart in the coffin to celebrate my new mortality? That was kinda morbid, by the way." Gunn nodded, agreeing.

"Shanshu party?" Cordelia repeated. Boy howdy, if she'd thought she was confused before… She appealed to both men, desperate for some kind of clarification. "What's going on? You said she broke another mug…"

Gunn took a swig, breaking it off with less grace than haste as he nodded, agreeing again. "Yeah, I'll never understand how Alonna can be so kickass in a fight, but take her out of the life-threatening situation, put her in a room with some innocent, harmless crockery, and suddenly she turns into Clumsy Smurf." He shook his head in mock-resignation. "She's been that way since she was a kid."

"Alonna?" Cordelia felt incapable of independent thought. All she could do was stand there and repeat each new startling revelation. But somewhere inside her, a dim light of hope started to burn brighter as she began to understand. New excitement struggled up through the cold, bitter disappointment of her failure, and she looked at Angel. Like Gunn, he was happier than she could remember seeing him. Over the past two and a half years she'd seen him smile only seldomly. She could scarcely recall him ever actually laughing. If she were honest with herself, the entire time that she'd known him he'd been happiest when he was with Buffy…before they found out about the curse. After that, it was obvious that he still loved her, but it was an angsty kind of love. Somewhere inside he'd known that he couldn't really be with her, and so joy was forcefully watered down to a gentle tenderness, shadowed by melancholy. Now, he was grinning like he hadn't a care in the world. His eyes were actually **twinkling**. There was a bounce in his step, and he appeared flushed. 

Flushed? Cordelia looked closer, hoping against hope. Sure enough, Angel's pallor was no longer ashen; there was a new vitality to him. With dawning joy, his "new mortality" comment finally got through to her. Angel was human. Somehow things **had** changed. In this new, adjusted timeline Alonna had never been killed, and Angel had gone on to fulfill the Shanshu prophecy. Belatedly, she remembered the Time Keeper's words about the timeline and realized why they'd held such significance for her. There was no such thing as _versions_ of people. There was simply one person, one person who reflected the timeline they lived in. Everyone here was the same person they'd been before she'd taken this journey…they had just been adjusted to this timeline. She wasn't sure why she still had the memories of that other timeline, but she didn't care. It was nothing to be concerned about next to this. This was amazing. It was really Angel, and he was really… "You're alive," she said, full of wonder.

Angel beamed back at her, confused at her confusion but too happy to explore it. Gunn nudged him. "That's right, and your very alive girlfriend is still waiting for you out in the lobby." 

Needing not another word of encouragement, Angel followed Gunn out of the kitchen. A moment later, Cordelia heard him bump into someone, and then a lilting voice carried a hint of Ireland to her from down the hall. "Angel, man. What've ya' done with my fiancée?"

"She's in the kitchen," Angel's voice came back faintly as he continued on toward the lobby. 

Cordelia started at the voice, fell back. She came up hard against the counter, bruising her hip, but the pain didn't even register. She needed the counter to support herself. Shocked, stunned from the barrage of new, wonderful information, Cordelia was unprepared for this. She wasn't sure she could handle it; she felt like she was on overload already. But at the same time, her eyes fixed on the doorway with shining, desperate hope.

When Doyle came through the doorway she felt as if her heart might beat right out of her chest. His physical presence here in this time was too amazing and marvelous to be true. But it was. He was here, at the Hyperion. He stepped toward her, cocking his head slightly in confusion when she gasped and pressed harder against the counter. She welcomed the bruises; the sharp, biting little pains proved that she was really here. This was really real. 

Doyle stopped in front of her, so close she could feel the heat from his skin the instant before he touched her. He ran his fingertips down her bare arms, tugged her slightly toward him. She stumbled forward into him, into the circle of his arms. His face was suddenly inches from her own, and he leaned in to nuzzle along her jaw. His lips left a path of awakened nerve endings, his breath tickling her ear as shivers suddenly tingled all down her spine. "I missed ya' up front. What're you doin' back here?" he asked softly. 

"Ah…a mug," she stammered, finding herself abruptly short of breath. "Alonna broke a mug, and I - " Cordelia's words were interrupted as Doyle claimed her mouth with his own, pressing her back up against the counter with his body. There was one moment of surprise, of displacement, then Cordelia yielded to the kiss. Her hands slid around his waist and up along his back seemingly of their own accord. His own hands came up to cup her face tenderly in his palms, holding her to him for a long, sweet moment. And in that moment she remembered. She remembered… …_everything._

When he finally drew back, she found herself looking into light blue eyes that were now infinitely familiar to her. At the moment, however, they were bright with concern as Doyle took in her dazed state. "Are ya' alright, Princess?"

Cordelia looked at him in wonder, reeling from the host of new, amazing memories that had just added themselves to those of original timeline. Through tears that emotion had brought to her eyes, she smiled. "I am now."


	11. Epilogue

Cordelia managed to hang onto her sanity while they saw the Lister demons off. She'd held onto it the whole drive home. She'd said goodbye to Angel and Doyle and shut the door to her apartment. Alone, she finally succumbed to the brief bout of hysteria that had been bubbling up inside her ever since she'd seen Lilah's dagger come down. Ever since she'd seen the thing that had tried to gain access to their dimension. Even now, she was chilled to know it was out there. Even now, Wolfram and Hart were in the midst of planning Darla's return. How to drive Angel to his moment of perfect despair. Well, damned if she'd let that happen! Taking control of herself, Cordelia stepped away from the front door and delved deeper into the apartment.

She knew what was going to happen, she told herself. Maybe by knowing the end results, she could avoid some of the pitfalls that had led to that final, horrible, climactic moment in the future. Maybe she could somehow avoid it entirely. Circumvent what she knew was meant to happen. The same way the future version of herself had managed to save Doyle. 

Hm…too bad Future Cordy of hadn't left some clues. On the way home, Doyle had told her that Cordelia version 2001 had stopped by briefly to pick up a change of clothes and some toiletries for the night they'd all spent at the offices. Now Cordelia walked through the apartment, turning on lights as she went, and noticed the absence of a few things. But it wasn't until she got to the bedroom that she stopped, heart thumping at what she saw.

On the bed, propped up against the pillows, there was a nine by eleven sized manila envelope. Cordelia approached it with trepidation and picked it up gingerly. The envelope was thick, packed full. With shaking fingers, she tore the paper along the crease at the top of the bulging envelope and turned it upside down, spilling the contents on the bedspread.

There was no note, no explanation, but she didn't need one. The long, white envelopes that fell out were explanation enough. There were a dozen in all; each bore a simple title on the front in blue ink. The handwriting was, of course, her own. But she'd never sealed these envelopes. She'd never written on them. Not _her_.

Among the scattered envelopes, several had landed face-up, and Cordelia read their fronts with a growing sense of excitement and hope. _"Angel"_ read one. _"Winifred Burkle" _read another, and it was near the one that read _"Shanshu Prophecy"._ Cordelia knew that some of the other envelopes, the ones that had landed face-down, would have the names Charles Gunn and Wesley Wyndham-Pryce written on them. And maybe Lilah Morgan. But the thickest envelope by far, much to her delight, had landed right in front of her, face-up. Cordelia read the three words on its front, triumph in her soul.

__

"Wolfram and Hart". 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Outside, the Time Keeper remained cloaked in the shadows of an awning across the street, his eyes on Cordelia's window. At his side, his successor looked faintly annoyed. Though the younger demon was, on some levels, simply a newer version of his predecessor, he suddenly felt as different from him as night was different from day. Where he was devoted only to his duty, the more senior Time Keeper seemed to have lost some of his drive. 

He was also a little resentful that his predecessor had yet to relinquish the gauntlet. The device still rested on his arm, where it had been - except for recently, of course – for thousands of years. And now, here they were out in the dark, stalking some mortal. His restlessness grew.

"I do not understand why we are here," the younger demon said at last. 

The elder Time Keeper didn't respond for a moment, keenly observing the apartment window until the light went out. Then he nodded, as if a question had just been answered. "I just wanted to see something," he said. 

His replacement shook his head, the movement made massive by the span of his horns. "What does it matter?"

"More than I thought," the elder demon answered, appearing bemused. 

"The human should not have been allowed to alter events," the younger Time Keeper argued. "Now we must remedy the change."

The elder Time Keeper turned on his soon-to-be replacement. "No, we won't."

"The affairs of mortals are none of our concern!" the younger said. He was angry, and his anger stemmed from confusion. All he'd ever known was to protect the timeline. But now, on the cusp of the time when he was to take over the duties, something was changing. "We cannot involve ourselves in the petty, day to day workings of these linear, narrow-minded mortals!"

"Then why are we keeping time at all," the elder asked, "if not to preserve the petty, day to day workings of the linear mortal? Why do we labor to regulate time, if not for them? We are not bound by their physics; it is not for our benefit." With an impatient nod he indicated Cordelia's apartment window. "That human up there was willing to give up her life, and everything as she knew it, in the hope that she could save a friend. Just for the **possibility** of a better world. How many of our kind can you say have risked as much?" 

He pinned his potential successor with a demanding glare, and the younger demon lowered his eyes. When he raised them again, a good degree of attitude had been replaced by the questioning light of uncertainty. "We have always worked to keep the timeline pure. It is what we do. We don't take sides."

The elder Time Keeper gazed back at him. "Maybe we should." When shock registered on his successor's face, he sighed. "Calm yourself. I am not suggesting that we forsake our calling. I am merely questioning whether there could be more purpose to our presence here than we ever thought. I have long wondered about the ultimate result of our endeavors. I have often tried to imagine the ending to this story." His thoughtful expression began to turn to intrigue, and he cast mischievous eyes on his would-be replacement. 

The younger demon looked confused, but interested. He was, after all, made up mostly of the Time Keeper before him. The intrigue was inherent. "Story?'

The elder nodded. "Life. This tapestry of events woven through time. It is like a story in a book. For an eternity the book has been on a shelf, and while we've guarded it and kept it safe, we've never read it through to the end." He leaned closer, a dare in his expression. "Don't you ever wonder where it leads?"

Of course he did. The same curiosity burned in him, and his predecessor knew it. Outrage was forgotten in the face of the possibility of learning the answer to a long-held question, and the young Time Keeper looked up and down the street as if to make certain that no one was listening. He leaned in. "Do you really think we can?"

The elder demon's eyes lit up. With flourish, he held up the arm that bore the gauntlet and pressed the button within. "There's only one way to find out."

He stepped closer, and the two of them huddled against the wind as the gauntlet powered up. The breeze grew into a gust that buffeted them, whispering over their smooth scales to slide up and ruffle the awning. The air filled with electricity, and the glass of the storefront trembled. Then there was nothing but the wind.

__

~ Fin ~

For Glenn:

I'd do it for you, if I could.

You will be missed.


End file.
